


dreamer in a cloudy mirage

by sangiebyheart



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Anastasia (1997 & Broadway) Fusion, Attempt at Humor, Dialogue Heavy, Getting Together, Lots of it, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-01-31 10:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart
Summary: What happens when Jung Wooyoung and Choi San listen to rumors, Park Seonghwa just wants to live a normal life and Yeosang does not remember his childhood.Or, how four young men embark on a journey to reunite the Lost Kang heir with the Last Prince Kim Hongjoong and learn some important lessons along the way.「an ATEEZ Anastasia AU[discontinued]
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 46
Kudos: 63





	1. intro: long journey

**Author's Note:**

> hi there!  
i welcome you to (for me) yet another anastasia au.  
i really love both the movie and the musical (which i highly recommend!!!! it is absolutely fantastic). furthermore, i love ateez. especially kang yeosang. he is A Good.
> 
> so. one day i thought. huh. what if i made an anastasia au with ateez. did a thread on twitter and everything. i was hesitant to write it at first, since i just started uni BUT it has sort of become my stress relief. as it stands, i'm incredibly excited to share this with you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a tradesman arrives in town, a con-man has his doubts about the future, and a rumor opens up new possibilities.

Contrary to what many people claim to know about him, Song Mingi is certainly _not_ a gossip.

He is, first and foremost and with a reasonable sense of pride, a tradesman – and a damn good one at that!

Sure, once or twice or thrice, he might have brought back the spiciest and hottest news from the other side of the country back into their old, sordid excuse of a city, though that hardly likened him to all of these tattlers who would listen to the tales he told.

And, fine, he might have sold one information or another to shady characters many times over throughout his career – however, he has only ever tried to be the expert tradesmen he claims to be, so he did it with the thought in mind that trading must never just be limited to physical goods.

(Especially not when the spoken word appears to hold far more materialistic value, and makes his pocket just the tiniest bit heavier at the end of the day.)

What makes Mingi such a reliable source – and, further fortifies his stance of not being a gossip – is the certainty that he is telling the truth and nothing but the truth. People know they can trust the information he gives, and pay him good money for it as a result.

San still calls him a gossip, but what does San even know? After all, he _lets_ Mingi tell him about his journeys when he is back in the city – and for free, too! San receives every odd piece of a story, useful or no, Mingi picks up without having to pay the great amounts of money Mingi usually charges, all simply for being his best friend. Truly, San ought to show him more gratitude, or else Mingi might keep the best rumors to himself in the future.

On a warm spring evening, with the month of May floating by carelessly fast, Mingi arrives in the city with what he knows to be one of the most valuable goods he has ever brought home – a rumor, a legend, a mystery – something which might even get him killed if he told it to the wrong person. Something so dangerously thrilling, it has his nerves tingle from the excitement and his blood run through his veins with a chilling vigor.

He can barely contain himself behind the wheel of his vehicle and has to remind himself to _focus_ should he not want to end up in an accident which will forever forbid him to tell his tale.

Oh, how happy the stories about the dead royal family have him! They always sell egregiously well, as though the ghosts of the royal family itself were the ones spending the money, only to stay relevant in the city’s public eye, even fourteen years after their deaths. Because see, no matter how tragic the circumstance of your demise, at some point, the people start to get bored with it. And well, Mingi is sure he heard of the “Tragedy of the Palace Fire” too many times to have kept count.

Nowadays, it serves its function as a bedtime story for children, leaving the important if so questionable and undoubtedly morbid morale of always listening to your parents – or they might burn to death.

As adults do need their own stories to keep their lives interesting, any news of the sole surviving son of the Kim family – former residents of the City, now living on the other side of the country – is being lapped up by hungry mouths and even hungrier ears with unparalleled demand.

Mingi likes to believe that, should he ever get to meet Kim Hongjoong in person, he is going to thank him for making him a very, _very_ rich person one of these days.

And Yunho, as well – though Yunho receives Mingi’s _loving appreciation_ every time he comes to visit him in search of… oh, in search of a many things, none of which have any need to be disclosed. Mingi’s ways are secret, of course, no one ever has to know how this tradesman does his trading – certainly not with the personal assistant of Kim Hongjoong.

However, as lucky as Mingi is to have gotten it at all, the information Yunho has given him, was not exclusive to him. No, in fact, many tradespeople from all over the country were to spread the word in their respective city – and so was Mingi.

And spread it will, all right – Mingi has never been more certain of anything in his life. The last prince Hongjoong, from the house of Kim, searching for his cousin of the house of Kang, fourteen years after his supposed death – this is set to stir up the City’s curiosity for weeks on end!

Nobody knows the fate of the youngest of the City’s royal family – his body has never been found in the ruins of the palace, though the then-ten-year-old child did not surface days after the incident either, nor weeks or years later. Whatever moves Kim Hongjoong to attempt a search now is beyond Mingi’s understanding, but he supposes he can see how one might hold onto hope even when it is already gone.

Life cannot have been easy if your entire family is taken from you while you are no older than twelve years of age, as the prince was. The fortune left behind is a laughable comfort to lessen the pain, though Mingi believes it to be better than nothing.

Whoever might bring his cousin home, the Last Prince will grant them a substantial amount of money, (“Some say, it is half of his fortune,” Mingi will tell everyone, exaggerating as best as he could just this once.)

Mingi smiles to himself as he stops his car in front of San’s house.

Yes, Kim Hongjoong is going to make him very rich in no time.

Although he might not appear like the type to the vast majority of his clientele, Jung Wooyoung is a dreamer at heart. He would always assume that everyone is – as a kid, he had his heart on his sleeve, the way San still has, but nowadays, he reserves this part to himself. Hence why it is usually San people associate with these sorts of things – though, as with most everything else, there is a dream they both share.

Wooyoung has never wanted to become what he is today – a thief. It certainly has never made an appearance in his ten-year-plans, but Wooyoung figured out soon enough that there would not be much else of an option, not with his parents dead before he was even of age. Wanting to uphold their legacy is no small fraction of the reason he has this dream – San being the remaining factor to complete the equation.

Wooyoung must not let himself dream for too long, or get lost in a world he will never get to see outside of his wildest imagination. But he cannot help it sometimes – when anxiety gnaws away at his bones, engraving itself into every niche and corner of his body, all which keeps him going is the prospect of a better future someplace far, far away from the City.

He is young, San reminds him every time they talk about it. They both are. They have time. Once they acquire enough money, they are going to leave this place behind for good and settle Someplace Dreamy. Maybe open up a restaurant – Wooyoung could become a full-time cook and honor his parents the way they would want him to, by sharing their family recipes with the world. San could continue to work as a barista – minus the weight that being a con-man by night brings upon a person.

They are partners – have been for as long as Wooyoung has had to dive into the world of illegal activity. And Wooyoung will be damned if he ever lets San slip away from his fingers the way his parents did – the way his brother did.

Although he wished it wasn’t so, Wooyoung _craves_ to have San as a different kind of partner, as well – aside from being business associates, roommates and friends. Best friends, even. Hell, friends who have already committed to each other in the most serious of manners possible.

To Wooyoung, their friendship is not nearly _enough_. He can see how it might be to others, knows San is perfectly content with their relationship and the plans they have made together, _but_.

God, he wished there was no _but_.

“What are you thinking about?”

A soft voice calls him out of his reverie, and Wooyoung smiles as he turns away from the window he had been gazing out of. Were it any other day, or were it not for San’s genuinely concerned expression, Wooyoung might have replied with a wink and a cheeky, ‘You, of course.’

He does not feel like faking confidence today, so he goes for sincerity instead.

“Just the job tonight,” Wooyoung tells him, which is both a lie and a truth – their nightly endeavor has been on his mind all day, aside from San. San comes closer and sits down beside him on the broad window sill. Wooyoung has one knee propped up, his arm resting on top of it.

“It’ll be fine,” San says as his hand falls onto Wooyoung’s, interlacing their fingers. Wooyoung’s heart flutters at the sight of the small smile blooming on his face. “We’ve done this before. There’ll be no guards around, I was promised. We won’t be hurting anyone, and the worst thing that could happen is that we get locked in or something, but then we’ll just sneak out in the morning, no biggie.”

Wooyoung musters up enough will to smile back, though it is a little crooked around the edges. “Yes biggie. After the disaster of last time, we can’t afford even the smallest hitch. We need the money.”

San’s lips barely twitch at Wooyoung’s pessimistic outlook. He assures, “I know, I know. But we’re good at this. I’d even go so far and say we’re the best.”

“Is that why we’re so down-on-our-luck poor?” Wooyoung challenges cheekily, with a smirk that matches the cocky grin on San’s face. “Because people think we’re just _too good_ to be stealing for them?”

“It certainly is a nice way to look at it,” San says, voice tilting higher at the end. His free hand has reached up to touch Wooyoung’s cheek, warm fingers against Wooyoung’s skin that are comforting him more than most other things. San makes sure to hold Wooyoung’s gaze when he speaks on.

“We’re just in a slump. After tonight, everything will be better again. We won’t have to worry so much for a while, trust me. And besides… Should things run out of hand, we can always fall back on me, too.”

At Wooyoung’s alarmed expression, San hurries to add, “I know you hate it when we do that—”

“You’re right, that can’t ever happen again.”

“—But it’s good to have a backup plan,” San reiterates, undeterred by Wooyoung’s interruption. “I’d say we’re each other’s backup plan, but I don’t know about you, but you’re kind of my plan A already. I hope I’m yours, too.”

Wooyoung huffs. _As if that’s even a question_.

“You are. Which is why I can’t have this go wrong,” he says and for the first time all evening, his smile turns genuine. “We’ve got someplace to be.”

“Yeah, we do!” San grins brightly. His face draws closer to Wooyoung’s, and in a manner that is just so _San_, he begins to sing in a golden voice of honey, “_Someplace dreamy, is where I’d like to be~_”

Wooyoung promptly starts laughing, which has San giggle in the midst of his singing and causes him to stop eventually. And as Wooyoung watches his best friend, eyes crinkled with joy, laughter so full as though it was the first time in days he was laughing, he wonders why it is always San comforting him and not the other way around.

Wooyoung is acutely aware of San’s own mental burdens, and he does his best to give as much back as he receives, but lately, Wooyoung does not know if it is in any way near enough.

When their laughter fades away into nothing and San’s hand drops from Wooyoung’s cheek, Wooyoung swallows past the giant lump of uncertainty in his throat to ask, “Did you want something earlier?”

San’s eyebrows furrow in consideration, then his entire face appears to light up when he remembers.

“Oh, yes, I meant to tell you that Mingi’s coming back today. He’ll probably stop by before we have to leave for the night.”

Wooyoung frowns, “Does he have a delivery I don’t know about?”

San shakes his head. “Just visiting the BFFs.”

“Of course,” Wooyoung smirks. “Come to think of it, he still owes me. He totally cheated the last time we played cards. Couldn’t have been blunter about it but still had the nerve to lie to my face.”

At the vivid exasperation in Wooyoung’s entire demeanor, another bout of laughter escapes San, who says, “I don’t know, maybe he beat you, fair and square,” like a traitor.

Wooyoung gasps, dislodging his fingers from San’s in an act of stubborn defiance. “I can’t believe you! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“_Wooyoungie_,” San sobers up immediately, even whining a little. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know you’re shit at cards.”

Wooyoung sputters, “I am perfectly adequate.”

San only laughs some more before standing up, giving Wooyoung a peck on the cheek, almost as if to make up for something. “Sure,” he then says mildly, and a second later, he walks out of the room.

“Uh, _hello_?!” Wooyoung calls after him. “Don’t you walk away from me, Sir, we were having a serious discussion!”

Mingi arrives with the grandeur suitable to a man of his caliber – with a honking fest the whole neighborhood is invited to, and the unbothered confidence of a madman to match it. Though to his credit, he does try not to look too pleased with himself as San comes out to greet him.

“Mingi!” he cries, glee evident in his voice and for everyone to hear. Mingi opens his arms so he can catch San as he charges at him with full speed.

He is well used to it these days – to San clinging to him as though life depended on it, even if Mingi had only been gone for a few days. San is the type to do that, after all, showering his friends with affection and touch – and Mingi is far from objecting to it.

“I missed you~”

Mingi tightens his arms around San, mumbling, “I missed you, too,” and draws back. “Boy, do I got some exciting news for you.”

“So, just to cut things short, the Great Last Prince is looking for his cousin, who he wasn’t even in any way close to and who is, in all likelihood, a corpse somewhere in the ruins of the castle,” Wooyoung summarizes.

San groans, “You don’t need to phrase it so morbid.”

Wooyoung holds up his hands in apology, just to cross them in front of his chest again.

Mingi adds, “You’re forgetting the most important part, though,” and smirks, “he’s giving out a reward to anyone who’ll actually bring him home.”

“So what, whoever finds him gets the money? Just like that?”

“Unless of course, that little Kang heir finds his way home on his own,” Mingi says, smirking.

“Which he won’t, ‘cause he’s dead,” Wooyoung cuts in, stressing the end of his sentence far too much for San’s liking. “The prince isn’t really smart, is he? He must know there’ll be people trying to trick him into thinking that some random person might be his _oh-so-dear_ cousin.”

“Maybe he believes it’s a sacrifice he’ll have to make if he wants a chance at finding his cousin,” San suggests.

“Yunho said that he’ll take a look at every candidate first. He is supposed to ask some questions only the Kang heir would know the answers to, and only if you pass the test, you’ll get to meet Prince Hongjoong himself,” Mingi explains in a light voice, finger tapping against his chin. “You’d have to pull off a pretty elaborate scheme to trick him, then. Teach him everything the prince would know, anything about his family and their history. And you can’t forget about his personality, either. I don’t know, seems too much of an effort to make it very convincing for it to definitely not work out in the end.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says – well, grumbles. His voice gets lost somewhere along the way, as though whatever he would have said is continued in his thoughts.

“What?” San asks him, because something unfinished lies in the air, and for once, he is not able to read it right off Wooyoung’s face.

“He wants to do it,” Mingi fills him in, voice dry with his own disbelief.

San whips his head around at Wooyoung to screech, “Are you crazy!?”

“San…”

“It’d be stupid to even think about this. You can’t be serious. Mingi just said it isn’t worth the effort!” San argues, and Wooyoung cannot remember a time when he had ever heard him sound so agitated. San rarely ever gets angry, especially not at him.

“Think about it, San,” Wooyoung tries to appease him. “The real Kang heir is gone. He’s dead. There’ll be no one else to claim the position – I mean, _really_, _rightfully_ _claim_ _it_ – as his. If we find someone who’ll pretend to be the person the prince is looking for, teach him everything he has to know and bring him to Kim Hongjoong, we’ll be rich by the end of the year.”

San gapes at him, “That’s stealing!”

Mingi laughs, loud and clear, and it is a strange sound amongst the tension of the room. “You would know, _thief_,” he remarks cheekily, but San pays him no mind.

Wooyoung – who has been leaning against the doorframe throughout this entire exchange, while San and Mingi sit at the table in the center of the kitchen – pushes his body off the wall, and sits down on San’s opposite side. San’s eyes are trained on him, glued to his movements in hopes to find a slight change in Wooyoung’s demeanor, the one that might reveal that Wooyoung is merely joking with him.

If anything, though, Wooyoung’s expression becomes heavier, leaving no space for any sorts of jokes.

“I doubt Kim Hongjoong is having any sort of financial problem, we’d only be stealing from someone who won’t miss the money, anyway,” Wooyoung reasons with San, holding his exasperated stare and bracing himself for more arguments coming his way.

“We’d be deceiving him. What if he sees through our scheme and has us arrested?”

Wooyoung just shrugs. “Then it was an honest mistake. And besides, we’ll be well on our way by then. With the reward, of course. On road to—” Wooyoung’s lip quirks up at the side, and he hopes it has his face go a little bit softer, too. “On road to _Someplace Dreamy_.”

He phrases it like a question, like a suggestion, like it is something San could ever say ‘no’ to. It serves as a reminder for the second time that day – there is a goal they are working towards, and now, life has presented them a shortcut. The desperate side of Wooyoung needs to take it, and yet, it berates him to pursue this without thinking it over first, or else this path might disappear right in front of his eyes if he does not play his cards right. There is an urgency attached to it, even after mere minutes of seeing the clearing, but he cannot – will not, would never – walk the way alone, not without San. Because the desperate side of him needs San, too.

All of this goes unsaid – communicated, or so Wooyoung wishes, through his eyes alone. San has come to know him best after all these years they spent together, he can read him like an open book.

“Uh,” Mingi says, unsure, fiddling with his thumbs. “Should I leave you two alone, or…?”

He looks between San and Wooyoung, alternating every other second. San is the first to break their eye-contact and address Mingi, who has started fidgeting in his discomfort.

“You said there’ll be an investigation, right?” He asks, and knowing San, he does not truly want an answer, merely requires a few more moments to sort through his thoughts. Which is fair, as Wooyoung did kind of spring this on him out of nowhere.

Mingi answers, perplexed, “Uh, yeah? Yunho does them. So the prince won’t have to bother with impostors, I suppose.”

San scratches his temple, now averting his gaze to the table.

“You’d have to know all the right answers – and we don’t even know the questions,” he says with a sigh, looking to Wooyoung once again for an idea. “What makes you think we can pull this off?”

“I knew him,” Wooyoung simply says.

San frowns. “Knew who?”

“The Kang heir. We were friends. Played together sometimes, as kids,” he explains, leaning back in his chair as San and Mingi stare at him with big eyes.

“Why are you so surprised?” Wooyoung asks, “I lived in the palace until it burned down, remember? My parents were cooks.”

Mingi scoffs, “Well, forgive me for not making the connection between the mighty Kang heir and a simple kitchen boy.”

“I wasn’t a kitchen boy!” Wooyoung shouts, indignant. “I was the cooks’ son, that’s all. _My point _is that I know what the prince was like as a kid. Not everyone has that advantage.”

San does not appear as positive as Wooyoung feels. “People don’t behave the way they did as children when they are grown up.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. It’ll help cover some possible questions, we’ll just—we’ll just worry about everything else once we find someone willing to pretend. An actor, preferably. We’ll divide the reward into thirds and still get away with enough to… to build ourselves a new life somewhere else.”

San watches him, unblinking and with a face devoid of any emotion. Somehow, the brown of his irises is starker, gearing up to test Wooyoung, so much so it makes Wooyoung add, quieter, “We’d—we’d have the chance to finally leave. It’d be our _last_ odd job.”

And, “I won’t do it if you’re not 100% with me. I’ll let it go, I promise.”

He does not want to let it go.

San takes his sweet time as he considers their options, considers the horrendous undertaking Wooyoung has mapped out in front of him. It is evident he is hesitant, though Wooyoung cannot fault him for that. All he expected from this evening was a friendly talk with Mingi, not to have his entire life thrown upside down when that was supposed to happen years from now.

“Let’s say we do find someone,” San then begins cautiously, and Wooyoung knows he does it because he does not want to get Wooyoung’s hopes up too quickly. “Let’s say this someone can be as convincing as he needs to be so we can present him to the Prince… How do we pay for everything? How do we get three people to the other side of the country? We don’t have that kind of money to spare.”

Wooyoung pointedly looks in Mingi’s direction as a response. It takes him a moment, as he blinks the confusion away and realizes the implications of Wooyoung’s attention.

“No!” Mingi cries. “Absolutely not. I will be damned if I let any sort illegal activity be associated with my work.”

Wooyoung’s tone is the deadliest of deadpan when he counters, “You’re selling contraband on the regular.”

Mingi scoffs, drawing his eyebrows into an offended frown, “I do no such thing!”

“You regularly sell _us_ said contraband.”

“Well, not for much longer if you keep insisting I drive you all across the country out of the good of my own heart!” Mingi says, pointing a finger at Wooyoung.

“Wouldn’t that be a great excuse to see _Yunho_, though?” Wooyoung asks, almost with an absent mind. Mingi only narrows his eyes at him.

“And to think I give you _discounts_,” he grumbles. “This is slander on my name!”

“How is this slander, I’m only telling the truth!” Wooyoung crosses his arms in front of his chest. His voice is dangerously high as he nearly screams, “You’re being _so_ dramatic!”

“_I _am being dramatic? That’s rich coming from the drama queen of the city!”

“I am _not_ a drama queen!”

“You so are! What about just last month when you were stealing from that asshole from uptown and went out of his house flashing your—”

“You couldn’t see my face, it was the perfect opportunity! And just by the way, I don’t even know why I have to say it _again_, but as I remember it, I did not _flash_ anything.

“Hey, what about Mars?” asks San, but his words do not have the force to push through the loud… _discussion_… Mingi and Wooyoung are having.

“_Sure_,” Mingi drawls out the sound to add the weighty sarcasm.

“Stop distracting!” Wooyoung screeches. “Why won’t you do it, I thought we were friends?”

“Friendship does not equal free rides! It’s a three-day journey, by car alone – I have a job to do, a schedule to attend to. I can’t make excursions like these,” Mingi explains in a firm voice which has not quite lost its touch of exasperation.

“Fine, then.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “How much?”

San’s input of, “Again, we could also just ask Mars,” goes unnoticed, for the second time.

Instead, Mingi’s voice overshadows the solution to all of their problems. “What? No, I won’t charge my friends for this kind of service!”

“But you won’t do it for free either!” Wooyoung groans, throwing up his hands in his frustration.

Mingi holds up his hands in surrender, “Ah, well, you got me there.”

“You’re impossible!”

“And you’re crazy!”

“_WOULD YOU TWO SHUT UP FOR A MOMENT!?_” San shouts, fed up with this useless back and forth and eager to stop it. To his relief, Wooyoung and Mingi both turn their heads towards him comically fast, and they have the sense to look a little bit ashamed when they each meet San’s eyes.

“Thank you,” San says softly, smiling his signature San smile which makes him appear at peace, no matter how loud he might have been before. “I was saying that we could ask for Mars’ help.”

Wooyoung’s expression immediately darkens.

“No,” he warns San. “Don’t even go there.”

“He’s done this kind of stuff before. Forged papers and tickets and all. And he is damn good at it, too,” San argues in spite of Wooyoung’s discomfort. “He—Wooyoung, he might be the only person who can help us.”

“I haven’t seen him in two years – as per his request. He’s retired,” Wooyoung says, scoffing before he lets his lips purse with open distaste, though he cannot help it when it results in a sad twist in his voice. “And we’re not on speaking terms, anyway. He hates me.”

“I know you two have your—your complicated past, but…” San reaches out his hand across the table, catching Wooyoung’s yet another time today. “If we really want to do this, I don’t see another way we can make it affordable.”

After a pause, he adds, quiet but insistent, “And he doesn’t hate you. He’s your brother.”

“Try telling him that…” Wooyoung mumbles dejectedly.

“You know better than I do that Seonghwa is no one to hold grudges, especially not against family. I believe it wouldn’t hurt to start a conversation with him – I mean, we’re all adults here, aren’t we? We can talk things out,” San concludes, eyes twinkling with what Wooyoung reckons to be hope – he wishes he could possess half as much faith as San does.

Wooyoung and _Mars_ – Wooyoung and Seonghwa – did not part on good terms two years back, when Seonghwa decided he would not do any more illegal work once he had graduated from university. Understandable as it was, especially since he trained to become an elementary school teacher, he kept insisting Wooyoung give it up, too, which simply wasn’t feasible at the time. What started as somewhat reasonable discussions, soon became a topic neither of the two liked to have.

In the end, Seonghwa had told him to “come find him once Wooyoung's done being a thief,” and no sooner than that. At first, Wooyoung had not thought their conflict would draw out until neither of them was willing to seek the other out, no one willing to take that very important first step. The years which now lie between them seem to have build a wall that has made it all the more difficult. They would have to break it down brick by brick, at an agonizingly slow pace, with estrangement as a strong foundation, and the added weight of Wooyoung’s illegal propositions being stacked on top.

Wooyoung has a sour taste in his mouth just thinking about it.

“So,” Wooyoung says, circling back before he can get too caught up in his thoughts. “You’re in? We’re doing this?”

San huffs a laugh and squeezes his hand. “We’re doing this.”


	2. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a moment holds too much meaning, two brothers reunite and misunderstandings are best solved by talking.

In the middle of an empty classroom, Park Seonghwa stands between the tables and stares at the board on the far end of the room, trying and failing to figure out the drawings which have been scrawled onto it by haphazard hands of children. He is having a mild crisis over the chaos of white against dark-green material, and a shiver runs down his spine at the mere thought of the noise the children might have made while putting the chalk against the board, some rough and with a screech in their haste to draw, others perhaps a bit gentler and more attentive.

He truly admires Yeosang for his ways to incorporate the board into his arts class – having a ten-minute section at the end of every lesson where the children can let their creativity run wild has been an excellent idea – but watching chaos unfold has never been something Seonghwa enjoyed.

He prefers order and cleanliness. Working with elementary school children is the very juxtaposition of just that, though Seonghwa would never trade his job for anything else. There is so much to be gained from working with a younger generation, and Seonghwa finds that teaching them how read and write and create a new form of expressing themselves is the most fulfilling work he has ever done – and he has done his share of odd jobs over the years, so he should know.

“You know, the one on the left is supposed to be you,” Yeosang says as he enters the room, grinning a little. “The bird.”

As Seonghwa’s eyes fall on Yeosang first, then on the large circular drawing of a comic-like bird, he gets hung up about one particular detail, “Why does it look so angry? I’m not angry.”

Yeosang walks towards him, nearly flying in his steps.

“Well, _someone_ thought you shared the same features after said _someone_ got scolded for his disorganized notes, _again_, and had to... vent his frustrations about it,” Yeosang tells him as he stops in front of Seonghwa. When, after a moment of staring, Seonghwa does not give a response – and generally just looks lost – Yeosang begins to laugh. “Oh my god, you don’t know who I’m talking about, do you?”

Seonghwa sputters. “I—I have my suspects,” he defends himself. “But they’re second graders, most of them have received a scolding—no, a stern _reminder_—that an organized workspace can do wonders for your study process and your notes and—”

“They’re eight years old,” Yeosang giggles, slightly out of breath with his disbelief. Were it any other person but Yeosang, Seonghwa might even be offended by the laughter. “Their priorities lie elsewhere than in this classroom, they just wanna have fun.”

“I _am_ fun,” Seonghwa swears, “most of the time.”

Yeosang’s lips quirk up a tiny bit while he presses them together, trying to contain his amusement. He answers with a short, “mhmh,” and swiftly turns on his heels, walking to the front of the class and behind the teacher’s desk to pick up his bag. To Seonghwa, it seems an awful lot like he is trying to flee from the scene.

“I am, right?” Seonghwa presses, hoping to cover up the insecurity that has surfaced all of a sudden with the beginnings of a smile. He searches Yeosang’s eyes, whose features soften immediately when he is met with Seonghwa’s.

“Of course you are.” He slings his bag around his shoulders and joins Seonghwa once more. His tone is gentler, and Seonghwa’s breath gets caught in his throat with how sincere Yeosang sounds. “They love you, although it’s not because you’re ‘fun’… You’re kind to them. And patient. You may be a little too strict from time to time, but you’d never get truly angry with them, not for things that are out of their control.”

“Oh,” Seonghwa makes, a breathy sound no louder than a whisper. He is unsure whether Yeosang has heard – he is close enough, definitely, though that does not have to mean too much – but then again, it does not matter if he did. Seonghwa clears his throat regardless, his voice still scratchy as he tries to speak up. “Thank you, Yeosang. Truth be told, I don’t know what to say.”

“Have I left you speechless?”

And, as easy as that, Yeosang is back to teasing Seonghwa, smirk disguised as that beautiful smile of his, but eyes glimmering with mischief. Or maybe, Seonghwa is only imagining the step Yeosang takes to get even closer to him when he says it – Seonghwa’s head feels empty, and he is not himself anymore, just a mere bystander watching things unfold in front of his eyes.

If this weren’t such an everyday occurrence with Yeosang, Seonghwa might be worried for his sanity. But ever since they met at school, Seonghwa has been under Yeosang’s spell, whether he liked it or not. (Although, sometimes he believes he likes it far too much.) They have been friends for long enough for Seonghwa to be used to the teasing by now – he is not, however, and every time, he feels as though he might blurt something incredibly stupid, just to keep his insides from melting, in spite of his cool and calm exterior.

He has himself under control. It has been almost two years of friendship, one year of roommateship, and Seonghwa will be damned if he—

“Yeosang? I’ve been—I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”

—lets his mouth run off without thought. Oh, well.

Yeosang blinks at him, curious, a little confused. It is quite endearing, the way he starts to furrow his brows slightly. Unfortunately, Seonghwa’s nerves make him focus on the expectancy of his expression instead, and it makes him realize just how _goddamn stupid_ he was for allowing those words out of his mouth, now that he has Yeosang waiting for a question.

“Yes?” he wonders, coaxing Seonghwa a little when the pause is getting too long. Seonghwa swallows.

Everything in Seonghwa is screaming at him to ask him out. It is either yes or no, he reasons. Yeosang will not begrudge him for asking, would never begrudge him his feelings – it is such a simple act, posing this question, making this proposal and yet, it is the hardest _legal thing_ Seonghwa has ever had to do.

But—here goes nothing.

“I was wondering if you… well, that is, if you liked to… if you wanted to go—”

The door to the classroom is thrown open with a loud bang as it slams against the wall, causing Yeosang and Seonghwa to jump apart in shock and stare at the intruder interrupting the delicacy of their moment.

Seonghwa recognizes that damn grin in an instant, and he is torn between the relief of seeing his little brother again and not having to ask the dreaded question, and anger at seeing his brother after two years of no contact and not _getting to ask that bloody question._

What a ridiculous situation he has found himself in.

“There you are! Park Seonghwa, you’re not easy to find,” Wooyoung shouts. “I had to ask, like, half a dozen people if they’d seen you until one told me to look in some Yeosang dude’s class room. And wow, it’s true. Here you are. And you,” Wooyoung turns to Yeosang, “must be Yeosang, then?”

“I am,” Yeosang says, cautious and perplexed because of the strange man's unexpeced appearance in front of him. “And you are…?”

“Oh, how rude of me,” Wooyoung says and takes a bow. “My name is Jung Wooyoung. I’m this guy’s brother.”

“You have a brother?” Seonghwa can feel the questioning frown Yeosang throws his way, but his eyes are glued on Wooyoung.

“We’re not related,” he replies drily. “His parents took me in when I was twelve, after—after my parents died.”

“I mean, we practically grew up together, so—”

“What are you doing here, Wooyoung?” Seonghwa asks. He delivers the question with a cold tone, unkinder than he has ever heard himself speak. The smirk on Wooyoung’s face only falters a little bit.

“Can’t a guy just visit his brother at work without ulterior motives?”

“Did you quit?” Seonghwa counters. The answer he receives surprises him.

“Actually… I need your help with that,” Wooyoung tells him, and for some reason, something in his expression shifts that it makes Seonghwa believe him.

He turns to Yeosang. “Would you mind waiting for me outside? If I take longer than ten minutes, you can go home by yourself.”

“Are you sure?” Yeosang inquires quietly. Seonghwa guesses that Yeosang has already picked up on his discomfort, as perceptive as he is, and is offering his support, even reaching out to lightly touch the back of Seonghwa’s hand.

Seonghwa smiles at him, and hopes all the gratitude he feels towards Yeosang is conveyed through the gentle curve of his lips. He nods. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“All right,” Yeosang murmurs. Before he leaves the room, he glances at Wooyoung wearily, but passes him without a word. In the doorway, he stops once more, saying, “One of you will have to clean the board, though.”

Seonghwa laughs in spite of himself and Wooyoung looks at him as though he is trying to figure out just what is so funny about that. Even when Yeosang is finally gone, Wooyoung still has not found his answer. He moves on and offers, “I’m assuming you’ll wanna do it, right? Still Park Seonghwa, resident cleaning fairy?”

Seonghwa gives an amused huff as he picks up a wet sponge from the sink beside the board and begins his dutiful work. When he hears Wooyoung snort halfway through, his eyebrows quirk up in question, to which Wooyoung only responds with, “The one in the corner looks just like you,” and laughs a throaty laugh that stings with the reminder of how long Seonghwa has not heard it.

Wooyoung is still the same, even after two whole years of nothing between them, even after Seonghwa acted the way he did and their brotherhood broke apart within a matter of weeks. And although Seonghwa never regretted challenging their status quo, he did regret never reaching out to him again.

Yeosang showed him just how easy it could be, mere moments ago. There should not have been such a barrier between family, and yet, Seonghwa made sure to build one between him and Wooyoung when he gave him the ultimatum.

Now, as he watches the drawing of that angry bird with the eyebrows suspiciously shaped like his, there is a split second in which Seonghwa believes he deserves this caricature of himself.

“You said you needed my help?” Seonghwa starts, finally erasing the drawing from the board, so it cannot taunt him any longer. When he is finished – and satisfied – with his work, he turns and looks at Wooyoung – truly, really, actually looks at him – and finds that his little brother has not changed much in his physical appearance, either. He does note that Wooyoung seems more mature, despite that foolish grin on his face and the round cheeks that still cling to him well into his adulthood; there is something about his aura, however, which has him stand taller, and something else which makes him look all the more tired, too.

Wooyoung clicks his tongue. “Yeah, uh. San and I. We want to leave the city.”

“That’s great,” Seonghwa says, attempting a smile when his voice does not cover the sincerity behind the statement. “I mean. You’ve wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Wooyoung nods. For all that Wooyoung walked in with his usual swagger, Seonghwa can sense the nervousness in his entire demeanor. It should be something Seonghwa is used to – but it has also been two years, and he feels increasingly awkward standing here, not knowing how to talk to Wooyoung.

He takes a deep breath. “What do you need?”

“See, the thing is—” Wooyoung says and stops, trying anew a moment later, “Mingi – you remember Mingi, right? – he came back from his business trip a week ago. He brought some exciting news back into town, I’m sure even you must have heard them by now.”

“To which _news_ are you referring?”

“That Kim Hongjoong is looking for his cousin? Spread like a wild fire within a damn day.”

Seonghwa frowns. “What does that have to do with you and San?”

“We want to find the Kang heir, get the reward the prince is offering and… start a new life somewhere else.”

A heavy silence settles over the room, as Seonghwa searches for a proper reaction to this outrageous news. It is an unwelcome type of speechless he is, and he longs for Yeosang who had him flustered and lost for words for entirely different reasons only minutes ago.

“And how do you intend to locate the Kang heir?” is what Seonghwa settles on when speech finds him again in the end. Wooyoung hesitates, as though he was considering whether to tell the truth or lie.

Evidently, he decides on the truth. “We, uh—We’ll hold auditions.”

“Auditions?” Seonghwa repeats slowly. “Like in theatre? Like you're looking to cast someone for a role?”

Wooyoung nods. Surer of himself, he adds, “There’ll be someone we can work with, I’m positive.”

When the realization of Wooyoung’s true intentions sinks in, Seonghwa gives a bitter laugh, grabbing the edge of the chair before him with both of his hands. “So, it’s an act, then? And you need me to, what—forge you the passes and tickets so you don’t have to pay for this whole charade?”

Wooyoung answers with a shrug. “That about sums it up.”

There is stark silence, the heavy weight of something strange in the air, and Seonghwa attempts to wrap his mind around what Wooyoung has just told him. It does not quite work, mainly because Seonghwa gets hung up on one part of this – Wooyoung has not outright said it yet, but it has already mixed too well with the air around them. It is dizzying, and Seonghwa hates to be thrown for a loop and outside of his comfort zone.

“If that’s the case, then… I’m sorry, but no. I won’t do it,” Seonghwa says, voice devoid of emotion. “I’m not doing this kind of work anymore. You know that.”

“And what kind of _work_ is that?” Wooyoung asks him, tone vaguely telling of annoyed disappointment.

Seonghwa gives him the same answer he gave him two years ago, “_Immoral_ work.”

The response he gets is both expected – as it is Wooyoung he is talking to – and surprising – seeing as he would have foreseen a different reaction. But Wooyoung laughs, and it has an almost mocking quality to it, so it unsettles Seonghwa immensely.

“Of course,” Wooyoung scoffs. “_Immoral_. Stealing from a rich dude who won’t miss the money, so I can finally have some fucking peace of mind.”

“You don’t seem to realize the impact your actions might have on someone else. The prince will be—”

“Pretty fucking hurt,” Wooyoung completes for Seonghwa. “_Heartbroken_. Because I gave him hope where he never should have looked for it. But hey, I’ll write him a formal apology and tell him his money is going to be put to good use, if that’ll make you feel better.”

The flippancy with which he says it and Wooyoung’s overall sarcastic attitude has Seonghwa’s blood boiling beneath his skin. “There’s no need to be so crass. Stop acting like you don’t care that your actions have consequences.”

“And you stop acting like you have the moral high ground here,” Wooyoung fires back, a little louder than necessary. When Wooyoung’s eyes meet his, Seonghwa is astonished to find desperation gleaming within Wooyoung's irises, framed by his outrage and anger towards Seonghwa. “I don’t know if you forgot, but I remember clear as fucking day that you didn't care which _moral codes_ we were breaking back then, so long as they paid for your tuition.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa tells him, both as a defense and justification, a well-practiced reply to an accusation no one has ever uttered before. Wooyoung’s face does something funny when it falls on his ears, causing a grimace of the ugliest sort possible. The smirk which follows as Wooyoung goes to answer him is, somehow, even worse.

“_Well_,” he starts. His voice drips with the poison hard truths often bring. “If you had _cared_ enough, you would have found a way to avoid it.”

Unfortunate that an echo from the past, presented by someone who had been on the receiving end of these words then, can stop your heart just as effectively as a present hardship. There is a profound sense of accomplishment radiating from Wooyoung, now that he has managed to shut Seonghwa up by using his own words from two years ago against him today. Wooyoung has never failed to amaze Seonghwa, and today is no exception to the rule, even at the cost of his own ability to speak.

“I suppose we’re finished here, then?” Wooyoung wonders aloud, tracing the edge of a wooden table, faking the interest so he does not have to look at Seonghwa anymore.

Seonghwa squares his jaw. He misses the second Wooyoung actually hops off the table he had been sitting on, _almost_ misses the muttered, “I told San you wouldn't do it,” and definitely – one hundred percent – misses the opportunity to call after Wooyoung to stop him from leaving Seonghwa’s life once again.

Although, that is actually due to the fact that someone else does the name-calling for him.

“Wooyoung, was it?” asks Yeosang – of all people, it is his Yeosang standing in the doorway, keeping Wooyoung from speed walking out of the building and back to San. He is as confused to see Yeosang in his path as Seonghwa is.

“Yes?” Wooyoung says, perplexed and probably frowning.

Over Wooyoung’s shoulder, there is a brief second of eye-contact between Seonghwa and Yeosang – drawn out and unusual, something brewing beneath the surface. It is when Yeosang speaks that Seonghwa's heart truly does give out – Yeosang has that effect on him, he knows, but this time, it is much too different and much more painful. Unbearable, even.

Because when Yeosang decides, firm and resolute, “I’ll do it,” it is not much of a stretch to say that Seonghwa feels a little bit betrayed.

The atmosphere is icy, to say the least.

Yeosang knows it is partly his fault – for springing his impromptu decision to become the Kang heir on both Wooyoung and Seonghwa. It clearly upset the latter a lot, if the uncomfortable silence Seonghwa has forced him into is anything to go by. But see, the thing is, Yeosang refuses to take all the blame for their less than ideal situation _because Seonghwa is also too damn stubborn to listen to Yeosang_.

To a certain extent, Yeosang knows that the quiet brooding Seonghwa does is more to pity himself rather than show Yeosang that he has hurt him, and that all Seonghwa needs is some time to come to the same conclusion.

But dear God, locking himself into his study when they arrive home and not coming out until late in the evening – Yeosang could scream with all the frustration that has build up all afternoon, since there is no point in attempting honest conversation while Seonghwa is acting like an immature teenager. For all the times that Seonghwa acts like _The Adult_, this is a very sorrowful picture he is giving off.

Yeosang thought they were close enough to communicate openly and not dance around each other on their tiptoes. He hates how Seonghwa would rather hide from Yeosang for so long instead of just talking to him.

When Seonghwa finally does decide to leave his study, Yeosang is sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him, the lamp above his head the only light in the whole room. Darkness has fallen some three hours ago, the two of them up past their usual bedtime, even though it is a Friday night and they do not have anywhere to be in the morning. They spend it together most of the time, going over their week in pleasant conversation – though, scanning Seonghwa's face tonight, fatigue etched into his features, he is not so sure if the conversation they are about to have is going to be pleasurable on any level.

Seonghwa's obviously surprised to see Yeosang, as he stops in the doorway and stares at him with wide eyes when he goes to enter the kitchen. He looks conflicted, seems unable to decide whether he can get away with _getting away_ now that Yeosang has already seen him.

He speaks, “I didn’t think you’d still be awake.”

Ah, that explains it. He only came out of his rabbit hole because he did not think he would see Yeosang, anyway.

His fingers are tapping idly on a cup of tea, still hot and with steam rising into the air. “I don't think it's fair of you to avoid me without even listening to me first,” he tells Seonghwa, direct as ever.

“I suppose we are both disappointed in each other then,” Seonghwa replies, face blank.

“If you'd let me explain, there wouldn't be cause for disappointment,” Yeosang counters calmly. After a moment of uncertainty, he adds a heartfelt, “Please.”

He watches Seonghwa bite his lower lip, watches his face pass through several emotions – indecisiveness, guilt, anger, hurt – before landing on soft resignation which, all things considered, Yeosang reckons to be a good development. He takes tentative and slow steps into the room, and someone else might have mistaken his hesitance for fear instead of the disgust Seonghwa newly harbors towards him.

Yeosang really, _really_ tries not to let it get to him. He knows Seonghwa better than that.

“It’s too late to have this talk—” Seonghwa wants to say, but Yeosang has run out of patience and, quite frankly, _fucks_ to give when it comes to Seonghwa diverting his attentions elsewhere and finding excuses not to talk to Yeosang, so he cuts him off.

“You're right, we should have had it much earlier,” Yeosang says. He has to crane his neck to look at Seonghwa and he finds he dislikes the way he is looking down on him. “Will you sit with me?”

Seonghwa complies, movements mechanic, but Yeosang finally has him where he wants him, at least.

But, _God_, is it awkward. Yeosang has never felt this uncomfortable with Seonghwa before. His heart is beating rapidly inside of his chest because now, Seonghwa is closer, he is within reach and yet, Yeosang does not know how to start what he has been needing to say to him all afternoon and all of that because the last time – the last time they were this close, closer even, Seonghwa had been meaning to ask him a question. And Yeosang is far from stupid, he is perceptive, he notices how Seonghwa acts around him and how he acts around Seonghwa and what it means to himself, so he has always had high hopes that Seonghwa felt it, too.

Yeosang likes to believe that it will not take too much for Seonghwa to regain the faith in him he has apparently lost. With every second that ticks by without Yeosang opening his mouth, he grows more and more uncertain that this will still be the case when the two of them leave the kitchen tonight.

“I thought you were different,” Seonghwa admits quietly, opening the conversation before Yeosang can. He has his hands folded together on the table, eyes fixed on them rather than Yeosang. He huffs as he seems to realize the words have actually left his mouth, and then his hands are running over his face, covering up what has to be the noise of strange, sad laughter. “That sounds so—What I mean is,” and then, to Yeosang’s surprise, Seonghwa looks him in the eyes, “I thought I knew you, is the thing. I didn’t expect you to volunteer for Wooyoung’s ridiculous charade. You’re not—you're not like him. Or _me_. You're a good person, Yeosang, and a good person doesn't do what Wooyoung wants to do.”

“Seonghwa…” Yeosang breathes out.

“But I guess I was wrong about you,” Seonghwa coughs, as if to clear his throat, and then looks away again.

“No. No, you’re wrong,” Yeosang cries, louder than he really has to be, startling Seonghwa in the process, “You're wrong about being wrong about me,” he adds, a little dumbly, but the words fall out in a rush, because he does not want to lose this thread of the conversation, even though he knows Seonghwa has given him the opportunity to speak just by not leaving. “I don't know if—if I'm as good of a person as you think I am. For what it's worth, though, I think we're both… good enough. But… Hwa. I'm not doing this—I don't want to do it because I am greedy for money or something.”

“You… don't?” Seonghwa frowns, and Yeosang cannot fault him for his perplexion. If he is being honest with himself, he cannot quite wrap his mind around it himself. “Why else? Unless you've neglected to tell me you are the _actual_ Kang heir, I don’t…see a reason… why you…”

Seonghwa trails off as he sees the expression on Yeosang’s face. The very serious, definitely very sincere expression. “No way…” he breathes, incredulous. His eyes shine with a new light, and he gazes at Yeosang like he is in the presence of royalty, a little shy and awestruck.

“I—I don’t know why. But… when I heard you guys talking about it. It just made sense, somehow. Like it all fits into my story. I mean—” Yeosang gives a quiet laugh— “how many people do you know that just conveniently don't remember anything from when they were a child and came into the orphanage just a couple of days after the fire?”

He sounds too hopeful, even to his own ears. The idea has not been in his head for a long time, has barely even fully registered to his brain, yet. He still feels the same way he did when he woke up this morning, but then, there are moments where he is all the more aware that he does not feel any different – and probably _should_ feel different – so he just ends up in a very weird cycle of indifference. Other moments – like this one – have him slowly open up to new possibilities, possibilities that are so absurd and do not seem like they are even in his grasp but—for some reason, Yeosang believes they are.

For some reason, Yeosang believes he is the Kang heir. But—he needs Seonghwa to believe it, too. Or else, he might just write it off as a temporary lapse of his own, normally very sound, judgment.

“I know a lot of orphans,” Seonghwa answers Yeosang’s question. There is an edge to his voice that Yeosang knows all too well. After all, Seonghwa is carrying his own painful past upon his shoulders, and Yeosang has been told too many stories about just that to count, while tears fell from both his and Seonghwa’s eyes. For a long time, back when they freshly got to know one another, Yeosang thought that they shared a bond because neither of them had much of a family left. Because they lost their parents when they were but little children.

Seonghwa is in luck, though - at least he gets to have memories of his parents, gets to treasure every sliver of a thought and conversations they shared. Yeosang, shamefully, does not have that privilege. He does sometimes wonder whether that truly makes it any easier. Seonghwa swears it does not.

“You do realize that this could all just be a giant coincidence?” Seonghwa murmurs, “I don’t want to make you feel like I don’t want to believe you, but…”

“I know,” Yeosang nods fervently “I know it’s kind of hard to grasp. I just—What if this is my only chance to find out who I am? Where I come from?”

Seonghwa buries his face in his hands, breathing deeply. Once he resurfaces, his features are even more sunken with exhaustion, but his eyes are alight with attention.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, please,” Seonghwa starts, making Yeosang’s heart jump into his throat. “But… Don’t you know who you are? I understand you want to find your family, all right. It’s just—” Seonghwa clenches his fists. “Isn’t this enough?”

Yeosang has to swallow down what threatens to spill past his lips – the somewhat bitter question of what _this_ is, exactly – because there are better times to define their relationship, he reasons. Times when they are not as confused with one another, when their pasts are laid out on the table, not scattered around like a thousand puzzle pieces. Before this afternoon, Yeosang would have bet all of his hard-earned money that he had a good understanding of Seonghwa’s life before he had met Yeosang – now he is wiser, and a fool, both at the same time.

But he can discuss this with Seonghwa some other time. For the moment, he has to answer a question.

“All I know is that I don’t want to miss an opportunity when it’s being handed to me,” he tells him. “Your… brother showing up today was like a sign from the universe, and I can’t ignore that.”

Seonghwa remains silent as he stares at him, trying to decide whether he can trust Yeosang's words or if he is taken for a fool. The suspicion of earlier sneaks up on Yeosang in that instance, and he hastily adds, this time around unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “If you think I am doing this just to spite you, because of your _strained_ relationship with your brother, I believe it’s _me_ who was wrong about someone I thought I knew.”

Yeosang's bluntness takes Seonghwa aback, if his mouth hanging open with unspoken words is any indication of his disgruntled state – although it _should_ have Seonghwa speechless, Yeosang thinks. He had hoped his mind had played a trick on him with this, though Seonghwa – for God knows what reason – must have believed this to be some sort of grand betrayal on his person. Which has to be the most _ridiculous_ thing Yeosang has ever had to witness throughout their time together. It makes the blood run cold in his veins, and tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes, ready to fall if Yeosang only lets them.

But Yeosang clenches his jaw, adamant not to let Seonghwa see how much this hurts him. “I’m sorry,” he says, too. He is not sure what he is even apologizing for. “I shouldn't have given you a chance to paint your own pictures about me or this situation before a thorough explanation.”

“No,” Seonghwa bows his head and shakes it. “There's no reason to apologize. I’m at fault here.”

He looks up again, meeting Yeosang's eyes with a distinct sense of shame. He speaks in a low voice, more regretful than Yeosang’s ever heard him, “I’m sorry, Yeosang. I’m sorry I made you think that and—I’m sorry for doubting you. I don't know what came over me.”

“Okay…” Yeosang exhales, closing his eyes in search of his focus. He almost has it within his grasp again, when Seonghwa asks, “And… you’re sure?”

Yeosang finds that he is, even though his reply is shaky at best, “Yeah. As sure as I can be.”

“You know why Wooyoung wants to do this, right?” Seonghwa still frowns. His eyes portray insistence and something else that Yeosang can only describe as intense. He does not quite know what it is. “He isn't looking for the real Kang heir. He just needs someone willing to pretend they are a different person to deceive the Prince.”

“I’m aware, Hwa,” Yeosang says. He lifts a hand from around his cup – which he has entirely forgotten about – and places it on Seonghwa's, awkwardly patting it. “Think of it as a mutually beneficial relationship of convenience. Wooyoung helps me meet the Prince and in turn, if he recognizes me as the heir, Wooyoung will get the money and forever end this horrible lifestyle of his that you seem to hate so much. And if I’m not who he is looking for… it’ll be an honest mistake. I move on with my life.”

“As much as I want the best outcome for you…” Seonghwa begins, now taking Yeosang’s hand between his own. “I don’t think that you’ll be able to just… _move on_, as though nothing has happened. In fact, if I’m being honest with you, I think it’ll crush you.”

The thought alone does plant a strange unease into the pit of his stomach. And yet, Yeosang persists, “If that is the price I’ll have to pay, I will pay it when the time arrives, but I need to take that risk.”

As he leans closer to Seonghwa, Yeosang’s other hand joins the cluster already on the table and they are both holding onto each other like a lifeline, each attempting their best to show that they are here. That _they_ are back. “You don’t have to understand my decision. But I do need you to accept it.”

_I need you on my side_, Yeosang does not say, but he does not think he has to. He faintly wonders if Seonghwa’s heart is beating as fast as his right now, wonders some more about the grip he has on Seonghwa’s hands and whether he is imagining how fiercely he is holding on.

“Okay…” Seonghwa murmurs quietly. A second later, louder, he says, “I suppose I’ll have to take care of our tickets, then.”

A sigh of relief leaves Yeosang’s mouth, but as his mind catches up with Seonghwa’s words, he stops and frowns, “What do you mean ‘_our_’ tickets?”

“What, you think I’m going to let you do this on your own?” Seonghwa’s lips quirk up. “Wooyoung – and San, to some degree – can be a lot to handle all at once. I’ll, uh. I’ll have to make sure that you’re not overwhelmed. In all seriousness, though…” Seonghwa squeezes his hands, bringing them up to his lips. Yeosang is stunned by the gesture of a small kiss being planted on the back of his hand. “I’ll stay by your side, no matter what. It’ll take a while until I can… fully wrap my head around it but—but I’m with you. I want you to know that you’re not alone, because you’ll always have me, in the end.”

For no more than a second, Yeosang is stock-still, unable to move, but then he springs into action just as quickly – and regrets it instantly. All he had wanted to do, was to lean over the table, attempting a hug or a kiss, he is not so sure, and of course, what he ended up actually doing was to knock over the cup of the tea which has been sitting idle for quite some time. Its contents just had to spill over Seonghwa’s pants, too, since today is Yeosang's lucky day.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he cries out, hastily getting up to retrieve the dish towel from beside the sink. Seonghwa takes it from him with a small laugh.

“Yeosang,” he hears Seonghwa say as Yeosang cleans the table in a rush, a little uncoordinated, and making much more of a mess than before, and he scolds himself for allowing this to happen right in front of Seonghwa's eyes. Yeosang cannot explain what has Seonghwa so amused.

“Sangie, come on, look at me,” Seonghwa smiles, and Yeosang only now notices him beside him, warm touch on his bare arm.

“I made a mess,” Yeosang says helplessly, suddenly feeling like a child, shrinking a little to match his newly-acquired state.

When Seonghwa encloses him within his arms, though, Yeosang does not take too long to relax. “I know,” Seonghwa whispers into his ear. “It’s okay.”

Yeosang cannot tell for how long they stand there, engulfed in each other’s arms, but he is certain he whispers a low, “Thank you,” somewhere between then and now. He closes his eyes, as well, glad to know that Seonghwa is on his side.

(At some point, Seonghwa does mind the unpleasant feeling of soaked clothes and separates himself from Yeosang, albeit unwillingly.)

(They part for the night after they have cleaned up, both of their hearts heavier and lighter at the same time. Both wishing to have had the courage to ask for a good night’s kiss.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you think seonghwa was right to refuse wooyoung? let me know all your thoughts about this chapter in the comments, and if you want to, you can speculate where this is going, too!! i'd love to hear from you if you liked it (and if you didn't, what i can do to improve)


	3. my way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a peaceful morning gets disrupted, adventurous plans are made and a dancing lessons makes heads spin.

When San wakes, it is to sunlight filtering in through the blinds, a slight breeze coming from the window cooling his cheeks, which means that Wooyoung has opened it before he went to sleep again. San usually does not mind that so much, as it gives him an excuse to snuggle closer to Wooyoung under the blankets when it is still too early to get up. The air feels light and he content, head resting on Wooyoung’s shoulder and arms slung around his waist. Though his eyelids put up quite a fight, he decides to open his eyes and see if Wooyoung is awake, as well.

Most people have a sort of peaceful quality to them when they are still asleep – Wooyoung, however, somehow manages to always look particularly confused, too. Not that San has spent much time watching him sleep (– though he most definitely does, as he is the first one to wake between the two of them, every time –) but it does not take much to figure out that Wooyoung’s dreams are of a more questionable kind than most other people’s. This morning is no different; Wooyoung's mouth is hanging open, his lips occasionally moving together as though he was about to form words and his eyebrows scrunched up into a frown in his obvious attempts to decipher the ongoings of his subconscious.

San smiles to himself, knowing that once Wooyoung opens his eyes, he will be none the wiser, already having forgotten the contents of his dreams as soon as he blinks at the bright sunlight. To watch Wooyoung travel from the disorientation to an even more perplexed realization of wakefulness, is one of San’s favorite things about him. It stands as the best contrast to the tough, confident (and to be perfectly frank, _sexy_) guy Wooyoung believes he has to be when he is working. San supposes everyone has that certain duality to them, the side of yourself you show to the world versus the one only a few close souls have access to – though he cannot help but be amazed when it comes to Wooyoung.

When they met, both still teenagers, before their partnership – Wooyoung had been different. Louder, if that was even possible, bubblier, less irritated, and more open. Overall happier with his life, happier with himself. Of course, their lives had been so much different then, too, San could not even begin to compare them. They were very young, far more energetic, and although they still are, Wooyoung has lost most of the light-hearted laughter which used to come so easy to him. He is rougher these days, worn-out from work that pays the bills for one week but does not give him any sense of fulfillment or accomplishment.

San is aware that people change – nobody stays who they are as a teenager forever. But for all that Wooyoung matured, he closed off just the same, and it has not been a development San particularly embraces.

This is why San loves these moments in the morning so much. Because for a few blissful minutes, San knows he is the only person Wooyoung lets in. The only person he allows close enough to see that this boy from years and years ago is still in there somewhere.

San counts himself extra lucky that the boy chose to be with San for all this time and that he became a man by his side. There is not much San can offer him in return for his friendship.

San tries not to let these thoughts get too him too much, especially because Wooyoung constantly assures him that he values San just as much as San values him. Though with every time that Wooyoung withdraws – physically and emotionally – San feels like their time together begins to fade away right in front of his eyes, and that it is all his fault for allowing it to happen.

Wooyoung has been working on their plan non-stop for over a week, trying and thus far failing to find somebody to act as the Kang heir, so they can finally embark on their last job. San, all the while, has picked up extra shifts at the café to help with the financial side of things. Therefore, they hardly saw each other this past week, what with Wooyoung coming home later and later every night and San falling asleep before he did.

At first, San had not been able to fall asleep on his own – after sleeping in the same bed for so many months, San must have forgotten what it felt like not to have the warm reassurance of another person next to him. (They each have their own, separate bedroom, but ended up sharing Wooyoung’s bed after a job went horribly and almost had Wooyoung dead. Neither of them wanted to leave the other’s side after that.) He reckons it might have something to do with the irrational fear of falling asleep by yourself and waking up by yourself – of being left alone after all, in spite of all the promises – but San thanks every God in the heavens above that Wooyoung still joins him, no matter how dark the nights gets.

Yesterday – or really, today, if one is to be exact – Wooyoung must have come home no sooner than four in the morning, which is San’s guess, as he had been up until three waiting for him. The thing is, San has not got much of a clue what Wooyoung is getting up to all night.

He is certain of one thing, though – his nightly endeavors do Wooyoung no good.

San should have foreseen this happening when Wooyoung suggested they do this. He knows he is only trying to make their dream work – but San is not so sure whether it is worth Wooyoung working himself to exhaustion.

There is a ring at the door and San startles out of his thoughts, his abrupt movements making Wooyoung stir from sleep with the expected disorientation.

San hastily gets up, throwing on some sweatpants over his boxers and pressing a kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead, telling him, “You go back to sleep, I’ll see who it is.”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, obviously not awake enough to comprehend San’s words or actions just yet, but San has to hurry to the door before he can give him the time of day to explain.

He searches his mind for anyone who might be visiting on a Saturday morning, unannounced and at eight, and comes up with nothing, and when he opens the door to Park Seonghwa of all people, and another man he does not recognize but reckons to be someone important. San’s lips quirk up with the beginnings of a smile, his face brightening.

“Seonghwa! What are you doing here?”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Wooyoung says, suddenly appearing beside San. He looks tired, but alert nonetheless, which San supposes to be the proper reaction to seeing your brother turn up on your doorstep on a Saturday morning when you have had no more than four hours of sleep. He does not seem like he expected Seonghwa to come here, so San does not have to wonder how their talk went yesterday. After all, San has not had the chance to ask Wooyoung about it yet.

“Why don’t we discuss this inside?” San suggests, still smiling in spite of the heavy air forming between Seonghwa and Wooyoung, who both just stare at each other with mildly agitated faces.

San meets the strange man’s eyes and finds a frown on his face before he pointedly rolls his eyes and just walks past Seonghwa and into their apartment. This has San snorting, especially because it takes Seonghwa more than a second to follow after him, and Wooyoung several more to snap out of his daze.

What comes out of this impromptu meeting is this, provided in no particular order;

First, a man of the name of Kim Yeosang claims he is the long-lost Kang heir and cousin of the Last Prince Kim Hongjoong. He was orphaned at about ten years old, after an unknown incident had made him forget his entire childhood, as he could not tell anyone who he was or where he came from.

Second, Park Seonghwa is willing to provide them with the papers they need to make the journey, free of charge and foolproof – under the condition that he is to accompany them, or rather Yeosang, and makes sure that neither Wooyoung nor San pull a stunt. (Wooyoung looked decidedly angered to be accused of such a thing. San knows that it was only partly exaggerated.)

Three, the reward, should Yeosang be who the prince is looking for, will be fully San’s and Wooyoung’s. In turn, they help him prepare to pass Yunho’s tests and get him to meet Hongjoong. In case of failure, Yeosang will pay for any expenses that might have surfaced throughout their journey. They leave as soon as the summer holidays start.

Four – and this is merely San’s personal observation – Wooyoung looks conflicted, not delighted the way San thought he would look upon hearing the pleasant news. He covers it well enough with his professionalism, though that too appears so out of place in his own home that San is sure even Yeosang must notice that something is off. San does not really know how to reach out for him for the entirety of their discussions, and only watches him from the side with a worried expression.

In the end, some three hours later, they agree to meet the following week. San thinks all is set and done for the day, when all of a sudden, Wooyoung asks Yeosang to stay back and talk in private – without Seonghwa. And, to San’s surprise, without him. One look at Seonghwa and he finds him just as perplexed, and equally as torn whether to put up a protest to the demand.

Yeosang agrees without a second thought, so they both end up doing nothing, San because he knows he would not be able to sway Wooyoung anyway, and Seonghwa due to similar reasons with Yeosang.

They both stare at the door that is closing behind the two of them with a lost expression neither is quite proud to wear. San draws his eyes away first, realizing just how tired he still is.

With a sigh and a smile, he turns to Seonghwa, and asks, “You still take your coffee black?”

“I have a lot riding on this,” is not the phrase Wooyoung should have opened with, yet it is the one that finds its way past his lips first. Yeosang stares at him with a neutral face.

“You think I don’t, or…?” Yeosang counters, almost unaffected in voice and features. Wooyoung crosses his arms in front of his chest, opening his mouth to retort his exasperation, but Yeosang cuts him off, “Look, I get that I wasn’t your plan A. Or B. Or Z, for that matter. I’m too much of a risk for you, aren’t I?”

A pregnant pause, then Wooyoung says in a mild tone, “So we understand each other.”

“We do,” Yeosang agrees. “Both of us want this to work, whichever way we have to do it. But you don’t want to waste your time with someone who isn't even sure.”

Wooyoung considers him for a moment. “We’ve only got one shot at this,” he explains. “I just want to make it count. And hell, I’d prefer it if you were the actual Kang heir ‘cause that saves me a lot of searching and, according to Seonghwa, the inevitable pang of my conscience, but—”

“This wouldn't be any different if you were to hire an actor. Except, well, I’d say they can fuck you over in the end. I won’t do that,” Yeosang reasons. Wooyoung thinks he covers up the nervousness well – by acting like it does not bother him at all that Wooyoung is hesitant with him because deep down he already knows that he is the best option Wooyoung can get. Wooyoung does that, too – the cutting off sentences, the hurried but calm insistence. Trying to convince someone of something of which you cannot even convince yourself. He is intimately familiar with the pattern and therefore recognizes it so easily in Yeosang.

“I already said yes,” Wooyoung says, an attempt to quell the underlying distress. “I’m not gonna—I’m not gonna pick someone else over you. Seonghwa would probably kill me if I did.”

“He would,” Yeosang agrees instantly, tone dry but light at the same time. Wooyoung does not expect it, nor the spark of laughter that tumbles out of his mouth.

After a moment, he says seriously, “Anyway, all jokes aside, I have my doubts. A lot of them, if I’m being honest. But that’s only because I can’t have this go wrong.”

“Because of San,” Yeosang says, and it almost sounds like he _understands_, though Wooyoung cannot possibly fathom _how_.

“Yes,” Wooyoung says, deciding that, for once, it would be all right if he let his shields down a little bit. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s more at stake here than that, but… Yes, essentially. How’d you know?”

“He kept looking at you, all worried and a bit lovesick, I think,” Yeosang tells him, “And you kept not looking at him. Your eyes were either fixed on me or the carpet. It was like you couldn’t bear to see him, even when you were talking to him.”

“So what, I’m ignoring my best friend and you immediately have us figured out? That hardly makes sense.” Wooyoung grumbles, a bit taken aback by Yeosang’s perceptiveness.

“I _figured_ that something was going on between you two, and Seonghwa told me the two of you were close, even back when you guys still talked to each other. I think the term he used is ‘whipped’,” Yeosang smirks subtly.

“_Whipped_,” Wooyoung mocks in his best Seonghwa impression. “He is one to talk. Looks at you like you hung the world but has the _gall_ to call _me_ whipped.”

For the first time today, Yeosang’s face changes, albeit merely in color. The smirk falls from his expression as his cheeks bloom with a brilliant red, though he does not deny Wooyoung’s words, which admittedly surprises him. He had hoped he would not be the only fool unhappily in love. At the same time, an unwanted thought surfaces in his head, and his face darkens in horror.

“Wait, ew, oh my God, are you banging my brother?” Wooyoung screeches, because he does not possess a brain-to-mouth-filter and has never learned about common decency.

His eyes widen when he realizes what he has just said. Yeosang is already covering his face and asking in quiet outrage, “I—No, I—I’m not… that’s disgusting—No, not Seonghwa, I mean, I don’t think he’s, uh—disgusting. The opposite, actually, uh—”

Wooyoung does not need to look to see that Yeosang’s face is probably even redder now, since he himself can feel the warmth spreading within his cheeks.

“Why the hell would you ask me that? Oh my God,” Yeosang mumbles, defeated in his fight against the embarrassment.

“I don’t know! The question just popped into my head, you can’t fault me for asking!”

“Yes, I can, you fucking weirdo! This is none of your business!”

“… Do you _want_ to bang him, though?” Wooyoung asks him, grinning lightly and raising an eyebrow at Yeosang.

“I won’t answer that,” Yeosang replies with a sense of defiance Wooyoung snickers at. “But let’s just say that we both have someone we can’t disappoint.”

Wooyoung supposes that this is a fair answer. Although he fails to comprehend what Seonghwa could possibly be disappointed about when it comes to Yeosang. Still, Wooyoung says, somewhat trying to be reassuring, “I doubt Seonghwa could be disappointed in you, even if he tried.”

“He already was,” Yeosang tells him, eyes meeting his again. “Yesterday, when you came to ask him for help and I volunteered. You can probably guess he wasn’t too happy, but he also didn't let me explain everything to him until I forced him to sit down with me. You out of anyone should understand that Seonghwa’s stubbornness can get in the way of him resolving his conflicts with other people, or him being upfront with them when he needs to be.”

“Huh, fair enough,” Wooyoung says. “Good to know he hasn't changed.”

Yeosang’s lips curl up at the edges, just the tiniest bit. “For what it’s worth, you know, coming from me and all…” he starts hesitantly, scratching his neck. “I don’t think San will be disappointed in you, either. So long as you—don’t do what you did today. You’ll be good. The two of you.”

Wooyoung has the strong urge to snort and dismiss him, but – for some reason unknown to him – decides against it. Instead, he hums quietly, and smiles as he glances at Yeosang, “I suppose so. I hope we will.”

To Yeosang's surprise, the world keeps turning the same way.

Yeosang still has to give lessons the weeks following their strange Saturday, and so does Seonghwa, and they still go to work together, leave together, still talk in their apartment about their day and which kid accomplished what in their lessons. It is just that they begin to talk about everything else, too, as Wooyoung and San come by in the evening, books in their bags whose contents supposedly describe the life of the Kang heir – of Yeosang's childhood – in overwhelming detail, and which Yeosang must learn to know by heart to be recognized as the Prince’s cousin.

Seonghwa, against all expectations, is a very good sport about it all – he has not complained once, not even about or to Wooyoung, and has in fact been caught glancing at his brother fondly when he re-enacted proper etiquette with San to show Yeosang just _how it is done_. San and Wooyoung were showing him the proper way to bow – as you can apparently do it wrong in so many different ways – and ended up only bowing to each other when they thought that the other did it wrong. After three minutes of them getting dizzier and dizzier, their laughter rang through the room and they were no longer paying attention to executing the bow as it was supposed to. The entire scene had been pure chaos, but Seonghwa still smiled through his perplexion watching them. When Yeosang looked at him with a proud grin, Seonghwa pretended as though nothing of the sort had happened.

When everything becomes too heavy and too much all at once, Seonghwa is there as well, understanding Yeosang without him even having to say a single word and ushering the energy bundles that are San and Wooyoung out as soon as Yeosang shows any signs of discomfort. Yeosang is grateful Seonghwa has not run away yet, and keeps Yeosang grounded enough so he himself does not try and run away. Yeosang is well aware that he chose this and should stick to his word. He will not back out due to any reasons of doubt or panic which may arise, though he cannot help _that_ they arise.

Seonghwa asks him every night if this really is what he wants to do – the first time, Yeosang believed Seonghwa was hoping for a ‘no,’ and that Yeosang would finally stop with his delusions. But Seonghwa is only making sure Yeosang’s focus remains straightforward, that he knows what all of their studying is for, no matter how exhausted he is from it. Sometimes, whenever San and Wooyoung had a particular physical presentation for Yeosang to learn, Seonghwa would mimic it once they were alone. Yeosang knows he exaggerates the awkwardness his movements have about them, and yet it still makes him laugh every single time.

One afternoon in early June, Wooyoung quite literally dances into their apartment, leading a singing San in pretty little twirls around their not exactly spacious living room. Yeosang has not had the pleasure of Wooyoung's acquaintance for long, but it did not take him too much time to see the bubbly personality beneath the serious professional exterior. At some point, they almost break a glass by pushing it off the coffee table, and Seonghwa gasps in sudden anguish, eyes wide at the possibility of his chaotic brother bringing even more chaos into their living space. Wooyoung's laugh, however, heard more often now that he is comfortable, is high-pitched and loud and contagious and it makes San’s smile even brighter, though it does little to soothe the pained expression on Seonghwa's face. At the very least, Seonghwa's horror has Wooyoung laugh even harder.

Before long, even Wooyoung recognizes the end of his exaggerated introduction into their lesson, and separates himself from San, bowing to him in gratitude as San curtsies in return. It does not occur to Yeosang that he is next until Wooyoung bounces towards him, wiggling his eyebrows as he stops right in front of him. At first, Yeosang thinks that Wooyoung is asking Yeosang to dance with _him_, even leading him to the center of the room in a supposed starting position, but then San appears by his side, dragging a disgruntled Seonghwa by his arm and switching him with Wooyoung easily – and Yeosang realizes this has been his plan all along.

They might know how to dance in theory, though life has not given them cause to indulge the activity much – especially not the classic ballroom dancing Wooyoung is demanding of them – so they both stumble more than they actually dance. Yeosang believes their proximity is a significant factor in this, as well, since Seonghwa does not dare look at Yeosang and steps on his feet a few times because he does not look those, either. It is a wonder how he manages to lead the two of them.

“What point is there in studying dance?” Yeosang asks under his breath, so low that only Seonghwa can hear him over the sound of San’s voice singing along to the music. “It’s not like Kim Hongjoong is going to ask me to dance with him to work out if we’re related.”

“I’m sure you wouldn't have to worry even if he did,” Seonghwa mumbles, finally meeting his eyes. “You're not the one tripping over his own feet left and right.”

“True, but… it's reassuring to know that even the great Park Seonghwa can’t do everything perfectly,” Yeosang smiles at him good-naturedly.

Now, Seonghwa's eyes fall to their feet, trying to concentrate on doing what he is supposed to do. Yeosang cannot help but think that Seonghwa is still a little shy. “I never said that I can?” Seonghwa says, leaning too much on the defensive side for Yeosang's liking.

“I know, I know, but you're just… so naturally good at everything you do. You’re soft-spoken and kind to the children, you’re handling life much better than anyone else our age and I wish I’d be as organized as you are.”

Seonghwa needs several moments to reply, openly gaping at Yeosang, and Yeosang gets the chance to fill the silence, “And you’re making an effort, even when something is difficult for you.”

“Stop,” Seonghwa whispers, lips quirking up into a flustered smile. “You’ll make me blush from all the flattery.”

He says it like he is joking, though Yeosang is close enough to see the pink dusting on his cheeks prove the truth behind his words. Yeosang laughs. “I like making you blush,” he goes on to say, foolishly, “You always look like I’ve thrown you entirely off course.”

The music stops and so does Seonghwa, making them slowly come to a halt. Yeosang does not expect him to keep holding onto the hand with which he had lead him around the room, and yet, he takes it even further; drawing Yeosang’s closer hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on its back with a bowed head – an act of respect and affection alike, in circles of the royal class. It has Yeosang awestruck, and out of breath – if asked, he would say it is from the dancing, not from the way Seonghwa's eyes find him afterwards, as he murmurs, low and yet so clear in Yeosang’s ears, “I hope I can accomplish the same, one day. As it stands, you have an unfair advantage over me, my prince.”

Faintly, Yeosang can hear San (or perhaps it is Wooyoung, Yeosang is not sure) say, “That’s some gay shit,” probably in reference to Seonghwa and him standing in the middle of their living room, furniture having been pushed to the side to make room for their dancing, but he has hardly any mind to be paying attention to them.

Not when his head is filled up to the brim with Seonghwa calling him ‘his prince’. _And throwing him entirely off course._

Only when Seonghwa lets go of his hand and gazes at him with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes does Yeosang snap out of his temporary daze. He registers Seonghwa asking Wooyoung if this is enough practice for the day (though one dance could hardly even be called practice) and if he may be excused to pursue some other activities concerning their journey. It catches all of them off-guard, but Seonghwa is telling them rather than actually asking for permission to go. His timing is so strange that Yeosang almost thinks that he is the reason Seonghwa leaves, but Wooyoung assures him of the opposite.

“He must be meeting with _People_,” he tells him, emphasizing with air quotes, “they don’t typically let you choose when to meet.”

“He didn't tell me,” Yeosang says, going for neutral but ending up somewhere between confused and unnerved, because he is new to this and does not know the kind of _People_ Wooyoung is referring to, nor how demanding they are and what possible danger Seonghwa is putting himself in just to help them – help Yeosang – get to the other side of the country.

San must see the worry in his eyes, because he smiles at him brightly and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Seonghwa knows how to handle himself,” he says. “I’m sure he didn't tell you because you're not used to the ugly side of things. He just wants to spare you the details.”

And Yeosang would believe that if Seonghwa had told him anything – as it stands, Yeosang knows as little as two weeks before. Anytime he asks, Seonghwa distracts him with a different topic or says that it does not matter anymore. In the beginning, Yeosang held up his hopes that Seonghwa was just taking his time to prepare, to make sure there would not be any misunderstandings once he would open up to Yeosang – but at this point, Yeosang is unsure whether he will find out about this chapter of Seonghwa's past at all.

He could always ask his brother, but aside from the fact that he would rather have Seonghwa entrust him with his story himself, Yeosang gets the impression that Wooyoung is probably a bit miffed by the casual way San’s hand lies on Yeosang's shoulder – that is, admittedly, just an uneducated guess, though judging by the purse of Wooyoung's lips and his clenched jaw, Yeosang thinks he has hit the nail pretty hard.

They resume their lesson after that, and Yeosang dances with both San and Wooyoung respectively, while the other watches with a frown. At least now he knows why neither of his teachers showed him the steps and immediately forced him to dance with Seonghwa – when he asks them to go through the movements as a pair, Yeosang being the one watching intently, they light up in each other’s proximity and Yeosang really has to hold himself back not to roll his eyes at them.

How can they not notice that their favorite person is right there, within arm’s reach, and that Yeosang is the last human on this earth to try and tear them apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lessons have begun! whatever seonghwa is up to, we better look out for him...
> 
> as you can see, i have taken A LOT of creative liberty when it comes to anastasia being the source material for this. and as it stands, i have about 25000 words already written out and it does not seem to end anytime soon, so please bear with me if this is going too slow for you. i am not going to apologize for that, since my writing is all about interactions between characters and their relationships and i feel like everything is necessary and plays into the entire plot. 
> 
> if you like this so far, PLEASE let me know in the comments!! i would feel honored if this is worthy of a few (or more) kind words and your thoughts, or at the very least a kudo. please do remember that an author's biggest motivation comes from the response to their work.
> 
> in any case, thank you so much for reading, and see you next time!! :)


	4. say my name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a forger has bad luck, two old friends try to pick up the pieces and even the strongest souls need a break sometimes.

Two weeks before they are set to leave, Seonghwa collapses to the ground as soon as the door is opened to him, and all he can hear is a shriek of his name before he blacks out.

He wakes some time later with a start and promptly knocks his head with Wooyoung’s, who had been peering at him from close above his face. They both recoil in pain, groaning and swearing loudly and Seonghwa barely even registers San running into the room asking if he is awake. The answer is evident, so San immediately goes on to another question, “What happened here?”

Wooyoung, cupping his forehead in a manner far too dramatic considering Seonghwa is not even half as affected even though his whole damn body aches like crazy, groans some more, louder and exaggerated. “Sleeping Beauty is awake two seconds and decides to fucking attack me. He comes here in the middle of the night all battered, I am gracious enough to patch him up and this is the thanks I get?”

As soon as he realizes the lack of a serious injury on Wooyoung's part, San begins to laugh quietly, approaching them. He plants a kiss on Wooyoung's head – as kisses are the best medicine, at least for Wooyoung – as the kiss’s recipient grumbles under his breath, “Beyond rude, that guy.”

“Don’t call me rude while I’m lying here in pain,” Seonghwa counters in a voice weaker than he had anticipated. “I’ve had the worst day, all right?”

“Yeah, you look like you did,” Wooyoung tells him, finally sobering up from his dramatics. Seonghwa can only imagine the sorrowful image he is giving off, lying on a sofa in San and Wooyoung's apartment, with a face beaten red and bruised to high heavens. He is glad he has made it here, at least, rather than collapsing on the street. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Well, what do you think happened?” Seonghwa closes his eyes again, throwing his left hand over his face because the light, though dimmed through both his eyelids and San and Wooyoung hovering above him, is too bright for his liking. It is then that he notices the bandages around his knuckles. God, he has a headache now, too. “Someone ambushed me and tried to teach me a lesson, or something.”

“I suppose someone didn't like to see Mars back in business,” Wooyoung says a little flippantly, causing San to smack him lightly on the back.

San asks him, “Who did you see?”

“Just Chan and Minho,” he mumbles, laughing lowly, “but they weren't the ones who did this. They were as accommodating as I remember them. Surprised that I was there, sure, but—accommodating.”

“Who then?” Wooyoung presses. “Who do I have to beat up?”

Wooyoung sounds so serious about it, Seonghwa thinks he might just do it as soon as he gives him a name. It has only been two years, how could Seonghwa have possibly forgotten his little brother’s impulsive decision making?

Seonghwa drags his upper body up into a sitting position, feeling his muscles protest against every inch of movement. “You are not beating up anyone,” he tells Wooyoung, eyes meeting his with what he hopes to be stern insistence. “It doesn't matter who did this to me, it was my fault for being careless, anyway. I was lucky enough to remember how to fend them off so I could run.”

“Is it someone we know? It must be,” Wooyoung keeps on going, leaning closer to him, and somehow, Seonghwa feels like he is being pushed into a corner. Seonghwa does not let himself give in to these attempts of coercion. The last thing he wants is for Wooyoung to risk everything they have been preparing so hard for, only because Seonghwa did not think before entering a part of his life again that he had effectively cut himself out of. Of course people would not like him coming back, even just for one job, but he had thought he could get away with it.

“When I say that it doesn't matter, I mean that. It was a nobody, someone who holds no importance and therefore felt threatened by a former con-man walking the same streets as them,” he says, putting his entire conviction into his eyes so Wooyoung will drop the topic.

Wooyoung looks conflicted, biting on his lower lip. He draws back from Seonghwa. “But do you know them? Or was it—”

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa stops him. His voice is not sharp, rather tired and exhausted, and a clear signal that Seonghwa does not wish to continue this conversation. “I survived what they wanted to do to me, that’s all that matters.”

“No, it’s not,” Wooyoung fires back, volume higher than should be warranted for this time of night. “It’s my fault this happened to you, so you’ve gotta let me teach them a lesson in return!”

This has the room in blunt silence for a solid minute. Seonghwa thinks Wooyoung has not once diverted his stare to something else the whole time Seonghwa has been here, only keeping his eyes trained on his brother for fear of him disappearing again, it seems.

In their early teen years, when Wooyoung’s cheeks were still round from childhood while Seonghwa's face began to sharpen and his height made him tower above Wooyoung for half a year, there was something else that came with his newly developed body grandeur; an increased protectiveness over his little brother.

In school, boys liked to pick on Wooyoung when the chance presented itself – and while Wooyoung fought back, as he had always been very headstrong, Seonghwa stepped in as the older one, making sure that the bullies stayed as far away from Wooyoung as physically possible. Back then, Wooyoung had hated whenever Seonghwa did that – for no other reason than wounded pride, or as much of that as a thirteen-year-old could possess. As Wooyoung grew, too, others were giving him less trouble, though not for want of trying. It was just that Wooyoung became trouble’s own cause, and seldom did a school day go by without Wooyoung being responsible for one mischief or another. Once he had met San, this only worsened, as they had been even better partners in pranks before they evolved to partners in crime.

Seonghwa kept on protecting him – if lecturing Wooyoung from time to time could be counted as such. It became harder when Seonghwa moved out of his foster parents’ home, leaving Wooyoung to his own devices with no one to make up an excuse to his mother and father for any misbehavior they might witness, with no one to forge the responses and signatures to letters Wooyoung’s risky endeavors would bring home.

After their death, Wooyoung had moved in with him – a seventeen year-old-boy whose entire world lay in crumbles before his feet, living with his eighteen-almost-nineteen-year-old brother whose family had been taken away from him for the second time in his life.

Seonghwa does not like to remember how they made it work. Seonghwa does not like to remember when the job that was supposed to be just a one-time thing became his livelihood. What he remembers, with great regret, is that, in the end, he has not had much luck protecting Wooyoung from anything.

And yet, Wooyoung is the one who thinks that he has failed his brother.

“This is not your fault, Woo,” Seonghwa tells him. “Unless you’ve paid them to beat me up, I don’t see how my misfortune tonight has anything to do with you.”

“Who else asked you to get the tickets for us? I know you're really just doing this for Yeosang, not for me, but he wouldn't have gotten any wind of this if I hadn't come to the school to talk to you,” Wooyoung argues, and if Seonghwa did not know any better, he would say Wooyoung is angry that Seonghwa denies his responsibility. One look at San and Seonghwa recognizes the same outrage on his face.

San cuts in, “By that logic, it should be my fault, if anyone’s. I was the one who suggested that we seek out Seonghwa to help us.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Or better yet, it’s Mingi’s fault for telling us about the rumor. Or, okay, well, could also be my fault again since I was the one introducing you to Mingi, in the first place. Or Yeosang's, for being born and then losing his family and childhood memories so his cousin won’t try to find him until he should be in his mid-to-late-twenties and no one would care to search for him unless you put an insane amount of money as a reward to get people interested.”

“_San_,” Wooyoung says pointedly. “None of this is your fault either. Or Mingi’s. I dragged you all into this. It was my crazy idea, therefore any responsibility falls to me.”

“_Wooyoung_,” San says, equally as pointed as Wooyoung, “Last I checked, we were partners. Anything we do, we do together. Unless I didn’t get the memo in which you told me you don’t want to be partners with me anymore, that is still the case. This is _our_ crazy idea and _we_ share the responsibility, though what happened with Seonghwa today has nothing to do with us but everything to do with some asshole who wished Seonghwa harm.”

No one to deny San’s reminder of their partnership, Wooyoung looks dumbstruck, mouth agape with words that he once wanted to utter but is now unsure about. Seonghwa believes this to be the perfect moment to finally insert himself back into the conversation.

“He is right, Wooyoungie,” he begins softly, and Wooyoung's gaze snaps back to him, expression darkening when he sees the bruises on Seonghwa's face. “It’s not your fault that I didn't make sure there was no one after me. I’ve gotten too accustomed to walking the streets casually over the past two years, it didn't even occur to me that someone might have a problem with me doing that.”

Wooyoung does not look too convinced.

“If it’s any consolation,” Seonghwa says, holding up his bandaged knuckles, “I did get a few good hits in, myself. I might not have gotten out of this fight as a winner, but I’d like to think I accomplished a draw.”

“Yes, because if you had lost, you’d be dead,” Wooyoung says, not falling for these attempts at lightheartedness. He is uncharacteristically serious about this, especially considering this is not the first time either of them has ended up like this on the other’s couch, although it has been a while.

“I’m fine, though,” Seonghwa swears, but he is thoroughly reminded by his own body how untrue that is. He does not think exhaustion has ever gnawed at his bones like this, and a headache has never put this much pressure on his head before.

But he is fine, somewhat. He just needs some proper rest. Preferably the horizontal kind.

“Like hell you are,” Wooyoung grumbles and gets up, “San, we’ve gotta wake up Changbin, so he can take a look at him.”

“No, no, no need to disturb him so late at night,” Seonghwa protests. “I swear, I just need some sleep. We’ve dealt with far worse before.”

“You’re right,” Wooyoung mumbles, and for a second, Seonghwa thinks Wooyoung lets it go, but then he says, “We don’t need a doctor. But maybe Yeosang's awake, I’m sure he has… an _opinion_ about the state you’re in.”

Seonghwa goes dead-still. “You wouldn't.”

Wooyoung smirks at him, “It’s either a doctor or Yeosang, the choice is yours. Either way, I am going to walk out of this door and bring somebody back with me and only one of them is going to be kind enough not to ask you any questions you don’t know the answers to.”

The choice is already made for Seonghwa, really. Telling Yeosang about his past has to happen eventually, but confronting Yeosang with the aftermath of violence would be disastrous.

“I thought so,” Wooyoung says, reading the horror from his face.

“Please don’t tell him anything,” Seonghwa asks of Wooyoung, and if his voice comes out a little too pleading and whiny, he blames his compromised state. “I haven’t found the time to tell him what it is that I did. He doesn’t know it has the potential to get dangerous.”

San smiles at him sadly, “I believe he already knows. Yeosang is very perceptive, and I am sure he is going to come here looking for you in no time without one of us having to fetch him.”

Seonghwa closes his eyes and releases a loud sigh. He feared as much, but turned a blind eye to avoid a conversation he does not know how to begin. He hears Wooyoung hum in response to San, probably in agreement, and proceeds to watch him put on his jacket.

“He already asked me why you won't tell him anything,” Wooyoung calls, halfway out of the door. “So, if you’re worried you’re gonna lose him, it’s not going to be because of what you're so afraid of telling him, but because you’re keeping the truth to yourself when Yeosang is the last person to run away from it.”

Seonghwa blinks at him, trying to process Wooyoung's words without giving away that he is painfully aware that Wooyoung is right – he would have to admit that he is scared too, on top of being stupid, and he would like to reserve just a little bit of dignity for himself tonight. There is something like a barrier forming and he cannot see properly, all of it prevents him from fully thinking it through, though, and then he feels his head become heavier and stars begin to dance in front of his eyes and he does not realize he is lying down again until his face hits the pillow with a thump and San rushes to his side to see if he is okay.

“Yeah, yeah,” he swears, overwhelmed by this sudden dizziness. He presses two fingers against his temple, in an attempt to regain his focus. There are agitated murmurs around him, yet all he hears are echoes of “Quick!” and “Changbin!” that sound distorted in his ears before he drifts away, mind settling somewhere between wakefulness and a state of dreaming in which he thinks he sees a distressed Yeosang when he blinks his eyes open, but is too out of it to properly register it.

He hopes it is a dream. Yeosang looked worried.

“It’s just a concussion, nothing too serious. He should be fine if he just takes it easy for the next few days,” Changbin repeats, for what must be the hundredth time, to a pacing Yeosang and a brooding Wooyoung. It’s nearing five in the morning, they are all tired, San is already dozing in the armchair next to the couch, and one look at Changbin and Wooyoung knows he would rather be in his bed right now, too.

“And you’re sure he is going to be all right?” Yeosang asks, _again_, stopping his pacing to look at Seonghwa on the couch, peacefully asleep and not just unconscious. He is biting his lips in his anxiety, has done so ever since San arrived with him, and Wooyoung half expects them to bleed anytime soon with the way Yeosang’s teeth dig into his lower lip.

Changbin takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes, saying, “Absolutely positive.”

“What if—what if he doesn't wake—”

“He will wake up,” Changbin swears, “I’ve had cases worse than him. People throwing up and shit, not being able to speak properly. He is lucky enough that he is just dizzy and has a bad headache. Trust me, he will bitch about that headache as soon as he wakes up and then you’ll know that he’ll be all right.”

Yeosang’s mouth opens again, Changbin’s frown deepening the wider the diameter, but Wooyoung jumps to his rescue, throwing his arms around Yeosang's shoulders to keep him quiet. “Thank you, Changbin. We really appreciate you doing this,” he says, smiling as best as he can under the given circumstances. Changbin is glad for it, it seems, as he smiles back a tired smile and tells them, “If anything unexpected happens, you know where to find me.”

Later, once Changbin has left and San is quietly snoring with a blanket tucked over his tiny frame, Wooyoung watches Yeosang watch Seonghwa from the door. For someone who has been awake for as long as Wooyoung has, he does not appear the least bit tired – he supposes sleep would be the last thing on his mind, too, if it were San in Seonghwa's place. The idea alone makes his heart skip a beat, and he releases a shaky breath to lose the tension in his body and walks over to San, intent on waking him up so they can go to bed.

Before he can put his plan into action, though, Yeosang speaks up, voice rumbling through the quiet of the room, “I suppose he told you what happened to him.”

Wooyoung senses where this is going and replies, “It’s really not my place…”

“What are the chances Seonghwa is going to tell me on his own?” Yeosang counters, turning his head towards Wooyoung and fixing him with a blank stare. Wooyoung has to admit that he has a point. “It’s the Kang heir's birthday, too. Wouldn't knowing what is going on be a nice present to... him? I mean. I can take a guess myself. But… is he out of danger, at least?”

The truth is; Wooyoung does not know. As much as he pities Yeosang - _the Kang heir _\- for going through this on his birthday, of all the days it could have happened, he is pretty certain Yeosang wants to hear a sincere answer, but he cannot gauge his reaction and does not want to upset him by saying the wrong things. Then again, Seonghwa had the same reasoning, and for all that Yeosang is worried about him, it is very clear to Wooyoung that Yeosang is planning to have stern words with him as soon as he is feeling better.

Plus, Wooyoung likes Yeosang, more than he thought he would that day when Yeosang stood in his way and announced he would do the job. Sure, they had – supposedly – been friends when they were children, and although Wooyoung recognizes some of his childhood best friend in Yeosang – namely his calm exterior that makes way for a funny and ruthlessly direct personality – he did not expect to like him this much. He makes him laugh when he teases his brother, because for some reason, he is the only one that can successfully do that.

He also gave Wooyoung the benefit of a doubt when Seonghwa would not, which Wooyoung is probably going to be eternally grateful for.

So, he goes to sit next to Yeosang, touching his shoulder as a means of comfort, and says, “For now. As long as we make sure that he doesn’t… go and do all this by himself. Or—preferably, at all. I don’t want that to happen again.”

Yeosang frowns and silently stares at Wooyoung for a while, making Wooyoung raise an eyebrow and ask, “What?”

“Seonghwa. What did he do when he was still… a con-man?”

“He was a _forger_, for the most part. Papers, tickets, the like. But—while he was good at it, it didn’t always pay very well – though that was mostly his fault, since he didn't charge nearly as much as he was worth,” Wooyoung tells him. “He worked with San and I on some smuggling and heists, which is probably why he hasn't told you anything yet. Most of the time it’s nothing to get all too excited about, but when it _is_… Well. Let’s just say that it’s not the first time one of us has ended up like this.”

He gestures towards Seonghwa, so still and pale that one might already mistake him for a corpse, were it not for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. The bruises on his face are no less violent than they were hours ago, even with Seonghwa's face as relaxed as it can be.

“Does he really think I’d resent him for this?” Yeosang wonders. He is so quiet, Wooyoung is unsure whether he is still asking him or merely talking to himself.

Regardless, he replies, “Maybe not for this. But what you’ve gotta realize is that… we had to fight back. We had to—sometimes, still have to—do _this_,” he gestures towards Seonghwa's face again, “to someone else. And Seonghwa did that, too. Granted, far less than San or I ever did, but. It—occurred.”

“Was that in self-defense?” Yeosang asks, with a tone that suggests nothing and an expression that does not fill the blanks.

“Not always,” Wooyoung says. “In his case, most of the time, yes.”

He leaves it at that. With the way Yeosang already has his head buried in his hands, he thinks there is nothing else that needs to be said. When Yeosang does not speak for a minute, Wooyoung supposes their talk is done and gets up again, walking over to San to gently wake him up.

“Hey, pup, time to go to bed, huh?” He whispers to San, who stirs easily but can hardly be called awake. He blinks at Wooyoung as though his eyelids were far too heavy.

Wooyoung wraps him up in his blanket and leads him to his – to their – bedroom, watches him flop onto the bed and snuggle into the comforter. He only wants to check on Yeosang again, but San makes grabby hands at him.

“Don’ go,” he murmurs. “Canno’ sleep without you…”

“Yes, you can, you big baby,” he laughs quietly.

“Yeah, ‘m baby,” San smiles, the most content Wooyoung has ever seen him. “But you love me.”

This sentence alone breaks through the tranquil air, a clear cut through the soft cushion of the early morning. San did not even use a louder voice, or more precise enunciation, and yet, Wooyoung has heard the words as though they were a piercing scream.

It is far from the first time San has said something like this to him – Wooyoung would be a hypocrite if he claimed he did not do the same thing. They do love each other. They proclaim their love rather frequently, annoyingly so.

But something about this morning, something about the way San spoke so gently, makes Wooyoung feel strange for the warmth that spreads in his chest.

“Yes.” Wooyoung whispers. “You don’t know how much.”

San’s eyes have fallen closed again. Wooyoung thinks that he may have already fallen asleep, but then he mumbles a response of, “I do know, an’ I love you just as much,” and the urge to cry builds up in Wooyoung's throat.

It takes him a lot of willpower not to combust with all the nerves the night has accumulated in his body. “I’ll be right back,” he replies shakily, “Gotta accommodate our guest first.”

He is out of the room before San has the chance respond and throw him off even more.

San was tired. San was practically asleep. Hell, San was probably dreaming.

San did not mean it the way Wooyoung wishes he did.

He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his cool before he deals with Yeosang, all in an effort so he will not have the opportunity to tease Wooyoung. He may not be in the mood for it now, but Wooyoung does not need to give him material to do it in the future. His cheeks are so warm, with his luck, they have got to be crimson red and that alone is enough, he knows.

Yeosang does not take any prisoners in that regard – that much Wooyoung has learned from watching Yeosang interact with Seonghwa. He himself is uncertain whether he is exempt from it, since he has not been acquainted with Yeosang for too long – even though their knowing each other now amounts to a month already. However, he is not too eager to find out.

Perhaps he will be too tired to notice Wooyoung’s inner turmoil over San, anyway.

“You okay there, lover boy?” Yeosang asks him as Wooyoung finally enters the living room. Wooyoung nearly shrieks. That is, he does shriek, but thankfully not at the frequency he usually does when he is caught off guard by something. He just about manages to keep himself under control.

“I’m fine,” he hisses, not looking at Yeosang. A subdued self-satisfied smirk is still a self-satisfied smirk, and Wooyoung does not wish to see it. It is bad enough that he hears a breathy chuckle.

Wooyoung clears his throat. “There’s a bed. You can sleep in. It’s in our guest room – or, well, technically it’s San’s room, but… he hasn’t really used it in months, so.”

Yeosang regards him, still smiling at him with a glint in his eyes – Wooyoung knew it was too early to look – but within mere seconds, all of the friendly complacency vanishes into thin air and Yeosang’s face falls back to the grave expression he has appropriately worn all night. He says, “Thanks, but… I’ll stay here.”

_Here_, he says, by Seonghwa's side – although he has already moved to the armchair, Wooyoung cannot imagine it is comfortable enough to sleep. “You do plan on sleeping, right? You shouldn't do that in that chair if you are fond of your neck.”

“Bold of you to assume that I am capable of sleeping,” Yeosang whispers. “Good night, Wooyoung. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“Yeosang…”

“What?”

They look at each other for a beat – Yeosang challenging Wooyoung to further argue about a non-negotiable issue, Wooyoung unable to find what he initially wanted to say. He says something different, as an inadequate replacement.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Yeosang frowns.

“…I don't know. Many things,” Wooyoung says, “Dragging Seonghwa into this. It wasn’t—It _isn't_ the right thing to do. I can’t demand this of him anymore.”

“You’re not demanding anything,” Yeosang replies softly. “You act like Seonghwa doesn’t have a choice. He does. And he chooses to help us.”

“He chooses to help _you_,” Wooyoung corrects. “Not _us_.”

He does not mean to be bitter yet _again_, not when his brother is in the state that he is, not when his brother's literal _boyfriend_ is at the receiving end of said bitterness. But he is beyond irritated and too exhausted to make an effort at common decency. “Sorry,” he says with a sigh, rubbing his hands over his tired features. “I’m gonna go to bed. This has been one long fucking day and I want it to end.”

Yeosang seems to hesitate with an answer to that, and Wooyoung waits for him to get everything off his chest. In the end, Yeosang merely nods at him.

“Sleep well, Woo,” he mumbles, in that strange calm tone of his that Wooyoung finds so hard to read.

“You too, Yeosang,” he responds. “And… happy birthday.”

Later, when he has got San lying in his arms and is drifting off to sleep, his mind plays the image of two little boys in the old palace’s courtyard, one of them chasing the other, screaming after ‘Woo’ in outrage. Before he can make anything of it, he has fallen asleep, and by the time he wakes up, he has all but forgotten about it.

In the afternoon, when all four of them rise from their slumber one by one, and Yeosang starts fretting over Seonghwa while Seonghwa starts apologizing profusely, Wooyoung pulls San aside to discuss what they are going to do next, now that something has happened to Seonghwa and the start of their journey has to be delayed. They had originally planned to leave the city in two weeks, though that was hardly manageable now that Seonghwa had to rest and could not finish his job on time.

Not that Wooyoung would let him, anyway.

Wooyoung's guilt prevails throughout their entire conversation, as he swears up and down that he should have seen this coming, that he should have never asked Seonghwa for help when they could have managed without him. San can do nothing about it – his reassurances fall onto deaf ears, his reasoning is being shut down before he can even finish, and Wooyoung insists that he alone is the one responsible for their miserable state. San wants to shake him for thinking this and all the frustration builds up onto a pile of words San really needs to say but does not get the chance to because the pile sits in his throat and closes it up and no amount of swallowing past it can lessen its weight.

San can tell Wooyoung is in a similar predicament, struggling to work his vocal cords to voice the inevitable decision that they might have to postpone indefinitely, or perhaps even call everything off entirely. It would not be fair, not to Yeosang or Seonghwa or themselves, but San can read it off Wooyoung's face and knows that he is thinking about it and—San is thinking about it, too, so he cannot fault Wooyoung for it, either.

Wooyoung does not speak for a while, once he has stopped talking about what he could have done better and started working up the nerve to say what they are both already thinking. San uses the opportunity to gather him in his arms and holds him close against his chest, because sometimes Wooyoung just needs to have a break from the heavy carrying he does – his fault or no, seeing Seonghwa like this, unable to let go and show his true feelings, is not and has never been easy for Wooyoung. And right now, it all seems to come crashing down on him, tenfold, all at once, months of stress and pent-up emotions catching up with him, at last.

Wooyoung's hands grip hard onto San’s shirt, pulling it into crumples of fabric as sobs wreck his body.

“Hey,” San says softly, fingers caressing Wooyoung’s hair. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you.”

He lets Wooyoung cry it out, shedding a tear or two himself, but he tries to stay strong for Wooyoung. He has to, when Wooyoung is so vulnerable with him. San is never happier when he can be a rock to Wooyoung.

After a while, Seonghwa stumbles into the room, the beginnings of a mild smile falling from his face as he takes in the scene before him. Any word Seonghwa might have wished to say is silenced with one look from San, but Seonghwa does not leave them alone like San expects – instead, he goes to close the distance between them. His movements are a little sluggish, but San can see the determination behind each step.

San understands Seonghwa’s intentions and coaxes Wooyoung out of his arms gently, who sniffles and whines at the loss of his sanctuary. San has half a mind not to let Seonghwa have this moment with Wooyoung – after all, Seonghwa has not been in Wooyoung’s life for two years, while San stuck by his side even when things were rough. But he is sound enough not to have his jealousy get in the way of Wooyoung feeling better.

Wooyoung needs to know Seonghwa is there for him, as well. It would be selfish of San to take that away from him.

Wooyoung is confused at first, but he melts into Seonghwa’s arms just as easily. San regards them carefully for another few seconds, though after a while he exits the room to give them some privacy.

A short while after that, he leaves their apartment altogether, having told Yeosang that he would be back with a solution to all of their problems and no sooner than that.

Wooyoung has Seonghwa, for now – San can work on making things better in the meantime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are going to look a little bit brighter, trust me. i didn't know where this came from until i wrote the first sentence and just. rolled with it. this is the result. the symptoms seonghwa exhibits are based off what i read about concussions online, so please either forgive possible inaccuracies or kindly point them out to me.
> 
> btw yes this is minho, bang chan and changbinnie ^-^ from skz making guest appearances in this chapter lol
> 
> as always, please (please :)) ) let me know what you think!!
> 
> note: i am going to update some time in february or march, bc exam season is starting and my head is gonna be otherwise occupied!! please be patient and understanding, thank you!! :)


	5. promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a forger and a prince talk, a con-man screeches and another is just really confused.

“I swear I am fine, Sangie.”

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped lying to me, you fool.”

“I am not lying,” Seonghwa insists, swatting Yeosang’s pushy hands away. “I’ve been the whole weekend, I just want to walk around a little bit.”

Yeosang narrows his eyes at him, “Do you still have a headache? Are you feeling dizzy?”

Under his questioning gaze, Seonghwa falters ever-so-slightly, but his voice is steady enough when he replies, “My headache’s not too bad, and I haven’t felt dizzy in two days, as I have repeatedly told you, Yeosang.”

“Mmh,” Yeosang makes, tapping a finger against his chin in faux-consideration, before he strikes another devastating blow at Seonghwa, “A little more rest will do you good. Now lie back down, please.“

“_A little more rest_ will make me go crazy,“ Seonghwa mumbles back, sounding like a petulant child. He obeys, though, and this time Yeosang does not have to put his hands on Seonghwa’s shoulders to force him into a horizontal position. Seonghwa sighs. “I suppose you won’t let me go to work tomorrow, either?”

Yeosang scoffs, which should serve as enough of an answer, but he still adds, “Whichever job you wish to pursue in your condition, I’ll be damned if I let you do it.”

Yeosang sits down on the bed, next to Seonghwa’s torso, close enough so he can reach out and touch his face. His thumbs graze over the bruises on his jaw, which have gone from the angry red to a mild purple. A feather-light touch, since he does not wish to hurt Seonghwa. “The children shouldn’t see you like this. Neither should our co-workers. I already took care of everything, Hwang is going to teach your classes until the summer holidays start.

“As far as your other occupation is concerned, Wooyoung and I thought it best that—well, you know, we don’t want anything to happen to you again, so…”

“I’d be careful,” Seonghwa says, and catches Yeosang’s retreating hands in his. “We shouldn’t stop on my account, not when I’m almost finished—”

“Wooyoung told me a bit about what you did, Hwa. You’re not _almost finished_. This process takes you at least another two weeks, if not more, and that is counting down from last Friday. When this happened to you.”

Seonghwa regards him with eyes full of regret, as though it is his fault for getting beat up and delaying the start of their journey. “I can still do it once _His Majesty_ deems me rested enough, which I already am. Then we’ll leave a few weeks later than we planned, so what? Kim Hongjoong has been waiting for you half his life, what’s another three weeks?”

“That’s not the point and you know it,” Yeosang answers, and the words fly from his tongue with more exasperation than he intended. His brows wrinkle into a frown. And yet, to Yeosang’s surprise, he motions for Seonghwa to move over and make some space for him. Yeosang lies down next to him, pillowing his head on Seonghwa’s arm and throwing his own around Seonghwa’s broad chest. Once he is settled, he releases a long breath. “I’d rather not do this at all if it means there’s a possibility you’re getting hurt because of me,” he murmurs into Seonghwa’s sweater, closing his eyes for a moment to ignore every single bad thing they have to deal with as soon as Seonghwa is permanently back on his feet. Yeosang knows that there is no need to baby Seonghwa this much, not when he is doing as fine as he should two days after the attack – but Yeosang is deathly afraid of a repetition of Friday night’s events should Seonghwa take so much as one step out of the door by himself, so he would rather Seonghwa be fully recovered before he dares to allow it.

He feels Seonghwa shift beneath him, and a second later, a hand running through his hair, offering additional comfort through touch. Faintly, and a little guiltily, Yeosang thinks it is kind of ironic that he is the one in need of consolation, of reassurance, when it is Seonghwa who has taken a stronger hit. Yeosang opens his eyes again, unsurprised by Seonghwa’s bright stare before him.

“There’s a risk, I’ll admit that,” Seonghwa says, hushed because of their proximity, and Yeosang cannot help but think it has something to do with the fragility of this moment, too. “It could happen again. But you have to remember that I did this for a good five years and managed to avoid these… _confrontations_… for the most part.”

Yeosang considers him for a second, then asks, “Are you telling me the truth, or are you sugarcoating how bad it really was?”

“I know I haven't been the best at communicating these last two months, but have I ever lied to you?” Seonghwa asks, and the faint undertone of annoyance which swings along in his voice does not go unnoticed by Yeosang. Perhaps, it is frustration at Yeosang’s persistence. The frequency of Yeosang asking Seonghwa questions has increased tenfold, now that Yeosang feels like Seonghwa really has no other choice but to tell him.

Yeosang could feel sorry for Seonghwa, especially in the state he is in – but he could also keep on bothering him, and he is not shy to admit that he likes that option a lot more.

“I didn't say you lied,” Yeosang reminds him, seizing the opportunity Seonghwa has provided him, albeit unconsciously. “I just want you to be upfront with me for once.”

Seonghwa turns his head away, mumbling, “I am… trying.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to _try_ for weeks, Hwa,” Yeosang whispers, and hopes that Seonghwa and him both understand each other. This is no longer just about Seonghwa's _current_ illegal activities; then again, when has it ever been to Yeosang?

“Look at me, please,” Yeosang prods at him gently when Seonghwa does not speak for a while.

After momentous deliberation on Seonghwa's part, he finally does meet Yeosang's eyes, gazing at him with a wildly beating heart beneath Yeosang's fingertips. “What are you so afraid of?” Yeosang asks him then. The fingers in his hair have stopped moving in anticipation of the question, and Seonghwa's entire body stiffens when he hears it. “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you tell me.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Seonghwa responds, voice a tremor of uncertainty.

Yeosang does not waste a second to reply, “Your promise to me is also my promise to you; I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

Seonghwa's lips part with unspoken words, a quiet gasp the last remnant of the attempt. When his throat remembers its proper function again and his brain appears to fully catch up with Yeosang's vow, his pretty pink lips stretch into a smile. Earnestness colors his tone as he says, “You’re far too good for me.”

Yeosang smiles back immediately, and says, “I know,” which makes Seonghwa give a breathy laugh in response. It does a lot to relax Seonghwa, too, as his fingers card through Yeosang’s hair again, holding Yeosang close. “But I’m serious, Hwa. Those aren’t just empty words to me. I mean them.”

“I know you do,” Seonghwa goes soft, oh so soft, when he says this, but fear has already left its marks, leaving him vulnerable and raw, right before Yeosang's eyes. He watches, helpless, as all the ease flows from his features in a matter of seconds.

Seonghwa breathes in and out several times, controlled breaths to settle his nerves. The fingers against the nape of Yeosang’s neck flex once or twice as well, and all of a sudden, Seonghwa’s face contorts in pain. “I’m afraid we’ll have to move, though, because this might take longer and I don’t want my arm to fall off afterwards.”

This sparks a laugh out of Yeosang, who rolls off Seonghwa’s arm in an instant. For a moment, Yeosang believes this is a scheme to get rid of the body trapping Seonghwa to the confines of his bed, but Seonghwa merely sits up with a groan that seems far too suspicious to Yeosang's ears, and rests his arm between their bodies as he leans against the headboard of the bed.

They are silent for a while, until, “So.”

“So…?”

“So… I don't know where to start,” Seonghwa admits, a touch embarrassed.

“How about you start from the beginning?” Yeosang suggests, but – realizing how little this proposition helps – adds, “You never told me about Wooyoung. What’s the story there?”

“My parents died in the palace fire, you know that much,” Seonghwa says, as somber as is appropriate. “My mother was a gardener. On the night of the fire, she worked late to prepare for an upcoming celebration. My father went to fetch her when it was already pretty late. I had school in the morning, therefore he told me to stay at home and go to bed, not to wait up for them. It was nothing unusual, I'd been alone at home before, even at night, and they’d never take too long, anyway. So I did what he asked and went to bed.

“I woke up in the middle of the night because Wooyoung's parents were checking to see if we were okay,” Seonghwa stops for a moment, clearing his throat. “You—I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you already know all of that. It’s just—Wooyoung was with them. The three of them had lived in the palace, as Wooyoung already told you. They’d just lost everything. They came to us for help. I didn't know what was going on at first, but…”

Yeosang watches Seonghwa close his eyes and clench his jaw, his hands curling into fists. There is a sharp intake of breath, horridly loud in the sudden quiet Seonghwa leaves in the room. “_God_, did I catch on quick,” Seonghwa finishes in a whisper. A slight cough ripples through his body. “Well. They took me in when it became clear that my parents weren't going to come back. Permanently, because they thought it’d be better for me to grow up with people I know, rather than in the orphanage.”

Yeosang hums in agreement. Selfishly, Yeosang thinks he would have given anything in the world to have a family, to have someone who loved him unconditionally when times were trying and he was the only one on the battlefield. Although Seonghwa has faced enough hardships himself, luck was on his side to have somebody take care of him throughout them.

“Now that I think about it, though,” Seonghwa says, a light chuckle accompanying his soft words. “I might have met you sooner that way. It wouldn't have been so bad.”

Despite there being no doubt about Seonghwa's sincerity, Yeosang only rolls his eyes at him, telling him to get those silly romantic notions out of his head; there is no point in dwelling on the what ifs, as it is not true to past’s character to be easily overwritten. He only half means it, because in the two years Yeosang has known Seonghwa, Yeosang has been much happier than his entire youth had ever been, and he is sure that if he had had someone like Seonghwa – if he had had _Seonghwa_ with him then, he would not have felt as lonely as he did.

“How did the two of you come to do… what you did?” Yeosang asks, just to steer the conversation away from those unpleasant and melancholic feelings.

The little smile Seonghwa held on his face falls away and is replaced by a furrow of his brows. Yeosang does feel bad for him now, since he knows that whatever comes next is what Seonghwa has been so scared of sharing with him. Yeosang hopes that the way his fingers interlock with Seonghwa’s helps him on the way, hopes that Seonghwa can read between the lines and knows that this is an act of reassurance.

Yeosang is staying with him, no matter what.

“When Wooyoung was seventeen and I was nineteen, his parents—got into an accident. They didn't survive,” Seonghwa says and stops. He sighs. “I had already started living by myself then, of course, Wooyoung moved in with me. Unfortunately, I was unable to support us on my own, and I refused to let Wooyoung help out before he didn't at least finish his education first, so we—we had some financial problems after a while. I used up all my savings before we could fall into any sort of ruin, but at some point, I couldn't deny that it wasn’t looking great.

“I took overtime whenever I could, I stayed late pretty often, doing inventory in that little shop I helped out at. The work was dull, but I was always very meticulous and double-checked everything, so the finished product was rather satisfying to me, as simple a task as it was,” Seonghwa’s lips turn up at one side at the memory. “I’d do all these lists, you see, and compare those to weeks and months prior…” He mimes the outline of a table with his free hand, drawing different rows and columns, pointing his fingers up, then down again, waving them through the air with a faint smile. When he catches Yeosang’s fond amusement in the corner of his eyes, his cheeks redden slightly and he bows his head, scratching his neck. “Uh, yeah. Anyway… I was by myself, most of the time. My boss didn't see the need to supervise me, since I was a very responsible young man and could be trusted to close up the shop on my own.”

Yeosang cannot help the snort that escapes him, but at Seonghwa's offended expression, he has to _laugh_, in spite of the severity of their circumstances. The idea of Seonghwa being the epitome of responsibility while his peers still had a lot to learn about just that – Yeosang had expected nothing less of nineteen-year-old Park Seonghwa, and that Seonghwa said it with a sense of pride, too – it tipped the bucket over the edge and emptied its contents in form of giggles, and no amount of Seonghwa glaring at him – with only half a heart, really – could have any power to change that.

“I’m sorry,” Yeosang apologizes regardless, pressing his lips together to contain his laughter and compose himself. “Please continue, I’ll behave.”

Seonghwa eyes him warily for another moment, but continues nonetheless, “… My boss was always very impressed with my work. I thought it had something to do with the fact that I was also cleaning up the shop afterwards and that he was just trying to keep me as an employee since. But—he was serious. So much so that, one day, he asked if I had ever been interested in… broadening my horizons and venturing into the forbidden territory of—well, of forgery.

“At first, I was unsure what, exactly, it was that he was offering me. Aside from forging signatures and sick notes for Wooyoung I had never done anything big. Nothing seriously _illegal_ I could actually get arrested for. So, the prospect of it was a bit frightening to me, which is why I didn't tell Wooyoung about it right away,” Seonghwa says, fingers running through his hair. “Not even when I started.”

The remorse in Seonghwa's voice does nothing to lessen the disappointment showing on Yeosang’s face.

“Seonghwa,” Yeosang begins, but Seonghwa must have already seen it coming.

“I know,” Seonghwa sighs, looking at him with big eyes. “Had Wooyoung not gotten wind of it himself, I would have never told him, either. But I underestimated him – him and San, to be exact. They found out what I had been doing about half a year after I had already established a name for myself.”

Yeosang tilts his head, blowing a soft huff of air from his nose as he remembers. “_Mars_, was it?”

“Yes. A play on my name.”

“Very smart,” Yeosang praises, applauding Seonghwa with gentle pats against his palm. “How did they find out?”

“It’s kind of ironic when you think about it. They were looking for someone affordable to forge them invitations to a black market auction they wanted to attend. Someone recommended them _Mars_,” Seonghwa tries to laugh, although it is a bitter sound.

“What’s so ironic about that?” Yeosang asks, in spite of his excellent ability to read between the lines when it comes to Seonghwa. He already knows what to expect.

“It’s ironic that I spent all this time putting a distance between myself and Wooyoung, just so he wouldn't find out what I do,” Seonghwa mumbles, meek, “while it was my keeping a distance that allowed him and San to dive into the world of crime themselves.”

He follows it up with stark silence that Yeosang cannot help but fall into as well, mostly because he is unable to dissect the situation.

Does Seonghwa need a comforting hand?

Is he looking for pity, or a scolding on his lack of communication skills?

Yeosang goes through many responses in his head and finds that none of them fit, which frustrates him more than it should.

Seonghwa must notice his troubles, as his fingers start to play with Yeosang’s hair again. Yeosang leans into the circular motions, as though he was the one actually needing the warmth of the touch. But perhaps, Seonghwa finds peace in the action, too, as he appears calmer once he has found his voice again, “Wooyoung and I, we were displeased with one another, naturally, so we both agreed to work together on a… _heist_… and then drop this career path immediately. Let this job be a one-time-thing, and use the money to help us get out of our misery. Obviously, that didn't happen.”

“Why not?”

To his surprise, Seonghwa merely shrugs, “I didn't think we could pull off what we did at that auction. We were rookies, we were really sloppy, the invitations I forged barely held up, but we still managed to do the impossible. And the item we stole got away for good money, too. So we kept doing it. I suppose the prospect of going to school was more attractive to me than working two jobs just to take care of Wooyoung and I.”

“What changed your mind?” Yeosang inquires, leaning his head on Seonghwa's shoulder.

Now that Yeosang cannot see his face anymore, the slight pause and hesitation feels rather uneasy, though it does not show in the slightest in Seonghwa's voice when he answers Yeosang. “Things had escalated quickly back then, which I didn't mind at first. By the time I thought about quitting, I was quite the renowned forger. And San and Wooyoung were damn good thieves – also became thick as thieves, though that’s beside the point. But I was training to become a teacher and I had only one year worth of studying left, which meant I had to start planning ahead. It got me thinking… How am I supposed to be a good teacher if I can’t be an example to my students? If all I do is break the rules, how am I supposed to teach them to stay on the right path?”

Yeosang hums in understanding, hand coming to rest on Seonghwa’s thigh.

“And that thought wouldn't let me go. Everything I did over these five years came back to me and—none of it was honest work I could be proud of. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life doing something I wasn’t entirely content with just because it would get me through the day. So, I made the decision to stop.”

Yeosang concludes, matter-of-fact, “And Wooyoung didn't like that.”

He feels Seonghwa shake his head, hears him sigh long and hard.

“It wasn't like that,” Seonghwa replies. “Wooyoung respected my decision. He understood where I was coming from, at least, as far as my becoming a teacher was concerned. It wasn't until I started holding him to the same standards that everything—fell apart.

“I wanted him to quit, too. Him and San, of course, but I knew that they’d only do it together and I was Wooyoung's brother, so naturally, I thought I’d be able to sway him first. But Wooyoung can be stubborn when he wants to be, it wasn't easy to get him to listen, which frustrated me _so much _and made me even more demanding, which in turn made it harder to have proper discussions.” Seonghwa pauses, deliberately, and Yeosang senses he is not having it easy shoving the words past his lip. “I was so—fixated on convincing him that I didn’t even listen to all the reasons he had for not following me into civilian life. I mistook his refusal for lack of character and in the end, I had created a false image of him which disregarded the Wooyoung I knew and grew up with completely…”

What follows is a retelling of the _ultimatum_, a word Seonghwa pronounces with so much disdain, Yeosang is afraid its poison might actually do him in. Seonghwa recalls that it had been a spur of the moment decision, that he had not planned to put Wooyoung on the spot like that – “It sort of happened,” Seonghwa recounts miserably, “I just wanted everything to be over.”

At some point, Yeosang dares to ask him if he regrets it.

“No,” Seonghwa answers honestly. “The only thing I regret is missing two years of his life. Knowing him, those must have been some eventful two years. I’m sure you’ve noticed, Wooyoung is a rather animated person when the situation allows it. I missed that. I missed my _brother_.”

This prompts Seonghwa to tell about the years with the Jung family, tells him stories Yeosang has never heard before because they involved Wooyoung. The turn of conversation is far from unwelcome, since the heavy hearts beating in their chests are in need of relief. What amazes Yeosang is the fond yet exasperated smile on Seonghwa's face, and it only confuses him more why Seonghwa has kept Wooyoung hidden from him all this time.

“Why haven't you ever talked about Wooyoung, Hwa?”

He poses the question innocently enough, lifting his head to meet Seonghwa's eyes and interrupting Seonghwa's stream of words in the process. “I get that you were not all too keen on exposing your past criminal activities to me, but… I don't understand how knowing about the prank Wooyoung pulled on his bullies when he was fifteen could make me want to stop being friends with you.”

Seonghwa bites his lower lip, averting his eyes. “I thought that… well. Wooyoung and I had just had our falling out when I met you. I was hurting pretty badly. It’s not a good excuse, but—I thought that if I kept him from you, you wouldn't ever ask about him. I wouldn't have to think about him, I wouldn't have to explain what went wrong between us, or the mistakes I made letting the only family I had left go. And it worked, for the most part.”

“Until he appeared at school two months ago,” Yeosang fills in the unspoken. “And had I not overheard your conversation and stepped in, you still would've kept on ignoring his presence.”

And it is true, that much is clear to both of them. Seonghwa regards him with a strange expression of consideration, one that shows that Seonghwa has already accepted that he would have made the wrong decisions had it not been for Yeosang.

The impact of this, however, must not have registered to him just yet, as the dam breaks and floods roll over Seonghwa with no mercy or sympathy. Yeosang does not expect them to roll over him, as well.

“You—” Seonghwa sits up on his knees, then, blankets falling from his body with his hurried movements, as he leans forward to cup Yeosang's face in his hands. The unexpectedness of the touch makes his breath catch in his throat and blood rush towards his face. Yeosang’s eyes widen to an almost comical degree when Seonghwa stares at him with tears in his own, breathing a little too rapid considering they have done nothing all day. “You are the only reason I stopped and considered. The only reason I can finally make it right with Wooyoung. _And to think _that I nearly messed everything up with you before I could do that, just because I wouldn't listen to you at first…”

Disbelief swirls within Seonghwa’s voice, a chastise to himself that makes it seem as though Seonghwa’s soul has left his body and has become a mere observer, not liking what he sees in himself at all.

Yeosang stays silent, eyes darting all over Seonghwa's angular features in search for—for what, he does not know. He finds anger and sadness and uncertainty in the furrow of Seonghwa’s brow and the downturn of his lips, embarrassment and hesitance in the way his mouth parts and his eyes grow distant. There is a blink of realization, and Yeosang thinks that maybe, this is what he was looking for.

“_Thank you_, Yeosang,” Seonghwa whispers, with an unbearable amount of _feeling_ behind quiet words. “I owe you so much.”

Yeosang knows what is about to happen, embraces it wholeheartedly and even closes his eyes in nervous anticipation.

There is little time to react – barely enough for Yeosang to formulate a response in his head – before Seonghwa is close enough that their lips are an inch apart, a tension building between them that is so palpable, Yeosang would call it a kiss in its own right if he wasn’t still waiting for the real deal. It should not make Yeosang's heart stop, _but it does_.

Though, as fate would have it, whatever Seonghwa was about to do gets interrupted by an unearthly screech coming from the doorway. Yeosang is alert enough to keep Seonghwa from falling from the bed, grabbing him by the arms when he jumps out of his skin at the unexpected rise in volume.

The source of the scream is, unsurprisingly, Wooyoung, whose eyes are covered by his hands as if he was a child who has just seen a scary monster.

“Wooyoung, what the hell?!” Seonghwa yells, once Yeosang has made sure he is stable enough on his own. “What are you doing here?!”

“I was just gonna tell you the news!” Wooyoung replies, voice high-pitched. His hands do not leave his eyes. “I didn’t expect you two sucking each other’s faces off! I’m scarred for life!”

“We—we weren't even doing anything! How did you get in? The front door was locked!”

“I am a thief, I _get into places_, as if a closed door could actually stop me!”

“Do you know no goddamn boundaries?” Seonghwa all but whines, scrambling to get up. Yeosang is not fast enough to stop him, but he is also too paralyzed from embarrassment to care.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Woo,” he hears Seonghwa shout in frustration, “get those hands off your face. We weren't doing anything to _corrupt your goddamn innocence. _I'm sure you've already found ways to take care of that on your own.”

Yeosang has not blushed this hard since he was a teenager at school, with a crush on a pretty boy grades above him. He was far too shy to ever talk to the guy, though passing him in the corridors had been sufficient cause for his face to be lit aflame. Now, Seonghwa and him did not actually do anything_ scandalous_ – as Seonghwa is already swearing up and down to Wooyoung, all the while scolding him for breaking and entering – but just the thought of Wooyoung witnessing their emotionally intimate moments is making him feel like a sixteen-year-old again, inexperienced and raw, as though everything he does is a test he has to pass to be accepted as a possible romantic partner.

It is only when San joins them a few minutes later, interrupting the bickering between Seonghwa and Wooyoung, looking rather perplexed for someone who has also barged into their living space without permission, that they make progress in proper human communication.

San, God bless his heart, gives them an explanation for his own intrusion, at least.

“No one was opening the door, and I was wondering where Wooyoung went! He was so excited to tell you guys the good news!” San says, grinning brightly, seemingly oblivious to the distraught state of his best friend and his brother, who are both staring at him with wide eyes. San’s smile falters a little, and he asks, slowly, “Did I… miss something?”

Wooyoung screams, again. Which makes Seonghwa scold him, again.

And Yeosang?

Yeosang falls back into bed, wishing his entire existence away. San is very confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not supposed to be chapter-length, but here ya go.
> 
> i'm sorry for being gone for so long, but i wasn't happy with the direction i had taken and needed to find confidence with this work again. amidst exam season and other inspirational bursts that did not relate to this story, i did end up neglecting this baby of mine for a while, but i'm back for now, updates won't be regular tho.
> 
> i hope i still have interested readers, if so, please let me know you exist!! scream at me on twitter or in the comment section, but i do encourage you to scream. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading, see you next time!!


	6. utopia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a tradesman is a reluctant savior, con-men sink into nostalgia, and an ex-forger makes one last attempt at forging.

Choi Jongho does not usually do these types of things.

No, _correction_; Choi Jongho has _never_ done these types of things, is not planning on _ever _doing these types of things, and _yet_.

These _things_ – these _illegal things_, illegal as in using his privilege as a tradesman to smuggle four men out of the city without the federal government’s knowledge – are just not part of his job description. 

The reason for this sudden proposal, he has yet to be given, too. However, when he gives the guy asking for his help a once-over, he believes it smarter to reconcile himself with the fact that he is probably not going to be any wiser and had best stay that way.

He _blames_ Mingi, though. He definitely blames Mingi.

After all, Mingi’s friends tend to be of the criminal sort, either thieves or black-market salespeople or forgers and the like, although Jongho is glad not to come into contact with too many of them. It would make both his and Mingi’s life significantly more difficult, and he would much rather just pretend that Mingi does not spend most of his time doing business with their kind.

This _San guy_ means very well, that much he can tell, at least – Mingi swears up and down that he is one the most genuine con-men there are, though Jongho has never heard of the existence of _genuine con-men_ before and Mingi’s word is not always to be trusted when it is not something he sells, either. Jongho has only known San for about thirty minutes, and truly, he _does_ appear as nice as a person of his standing can possibly get, but that is hardly enough of a reason for Jongho to even _consider_ breaking the law for some _strangers_.

Because, contrary to Mingi, Jongho actually _is_ a simple tradesman, not just the pretense of it. Of course, like any reasonable person in this city, he does partake in some extracurricular activity or another, but there is _nothing_ criminal about anything he does on an average work day.

Jongho is the textbook example of a law-abiding citizen.

…Well, up until now, he was.

It all starts like this.

Mingi has not had the greatest time in the past few weeks, admittedly. As predicted, the rumor he brought to the city has made him enjoy one (maybe two) luxuries here and there, but as much as he had been riding the high of his success, it has _also_ unloaded unnecessary grief upon. In the form of an official investigation from the federal government into the “sincerity” of his work as a businessman, no less; now, people have started shadowing him whenever he sets a foot outside, and isn’t that just a pain in the ass?

All of this hubbub around his person and suddenly, each and every one of his customers is too afraid to approach and buy from him – even the goods he acquired _legally_ – and Mingi has to fear financial _ruin_.

Because although he has been able to defend himself against most accusations made against his person – he is well-practiced, after all, as this is not his first investigation – for the time being, until he is cleared of all charges, he is prohibited from leaving the city.

Granted, he has only been on “house arrest” for a couple of days – and his savings are far from running thin – but he has a _job to do_, one that cannot be done just by sitting around in his home all day, doing nothing except stare at the dust bunnies gathering in the corner of his living room. Mingi is a restless person, too; a man who loves to live his life to the fullest of his abilities, and now, he cannot even do _that_. No one ever comes to visit him either, so really, he makes staring at the wall his newest hobby and pouts as much as his lips allow him. He names one of the dust bunnies Hwanwoong, for he must learn to find joy in the smallest things in life.

And _no_, he is _not_ being overdramatic. Anyone in his position would experience a similar itch beneath their skin, unable to scratch even though he has two perfectly good hands and the will to do it.

He is falling down the rabbit hole of living a boring life and he is only hitting the ground when San, unexpectedly, drops by a week into his imprisonment, puppy-dog-eyes trained to the ground and pout bigger than Mingi’s could ever be. Now, Mingi has known San his entire life; he senses that San is in trouble the moment he allows him into his apartment. His figure lacks all confidence, all vigor and easy softness Mingi is so used to with him – instead, he casts miserable glance after miserable glance, and his smiles darken around the edges even after Mingi has offered him his favorite tea.

Which is why, when San comes to him, asking – no, _begging_ Mingi to reconsider his initial refusal to help in their secret endeavor, Mingi cannot help but feel extra guilty, for all that he is unable to do it even if he wanted to.

San does his best to conceal the sad smile on his face as Mingi explains his dilemma, lowering his gaze as a light chuckle escapes him. It is humorless, tired and if Mingi did not know any better, he would have guessed it was not San sitting before him, sipping his scalding-hot tea just so he has something to do to keep his hands from fidgeting. San says, “it’s fine,” when Mingi apologizes over and over again, and ends up asking, “Any idea how we can still do this,” without expecting a useful answer from him.

And Mingi, feeling all sorts of bad for his best friend, thinks long and hard about this, though he does not seem to come up with anything other than hot air.

That is, until one Choi Jongho, a fellow tradesman, a year his junior, announces his presence in Mingi’s humble abode, and Mingi’s head is filled to the brim with ideas. Sometimes, Mingi could just up and kiss Jongho, never mind the boy’s aversion to physical contact of any kind, _especially _if it is Mingi initiating it.

Mingi does not hold himself back for too long, engulfing a screaming Jongho in his big arms and lifting him into the air.

And this leaves them exactly where they are now; a reluctant tradesman agreeing to drive four strangers across the country, a con-man crying with gratitude in said tradesman's arms, and another grounded tradesman smirking like this is his proudest achievement to date.

And all of that accomplished without setting a single foot outside.

Two weeks afterwards, the same con-man sits on his bed and thinks.

Time, he finds, is a curious invention. For something made up by humans to make life easy and measurable, there is nothing more confusing than one’s individual understanding and perception of it.

Its pace increases when San dreads the arrival of a difficult day, yet it has the audacity to decrease when he cannot possibly sit still from excitement at the prospect of happiness – sometimes, time seems to stop, as well, for example when his grandparents used to tell him they loved him, were proud of him, or when Wooyoung smiles at him and accompanies the action with a wink and a tilt of his head before he presses their cheeks together.

Time is weird. Time does not always allow answers before it is already asking more questions. Time has San wonder how much of it he has wasted, how much there is still available to him. How long he has been in love with his best friend, whether that even matters or not.

Almost eight years, it must have been. Eight years of knowing one another, eight years of San being absolutely enamored and smitten. San thinks _that_, too, is weird. He should have gotten over Wooyoung a long time ago – although, who is he to measure? Who is he to weigh their moments on a golden scale and decide which one would be the last San let himself love Wooyoung?

This is how San loves Wooyoung, manifested deep in the core of his heart, and it would be wrong to love Wooyoung any less sincerely. San is not the type of person to hold himself back – his grandparents taught him the importance of embracing his true feelings at every time, to not be afraid of them, even when they become difficult to bear. And, in spite of knowing he already had, without their knowledge of it, he strives to never disappoint his grandparents.

Another funny thing about time; it does not make a difference how long they have not been by his side – the pain of losing them will always feel like a fresh wound, salt poured into the red flesh beneath his skin whenever the smell of home-cooked food or walks in the park after a rain shower reminds him of them. Time is indifferent. Time does not care. It passes just fine without them. And San does not like to dwell on that thought, though he does so more often than he can resist it.

It is not like he can help it. As he goes through the few photos he possesses, there is little he can do to stop himself from becoming too nostalgic. San suffers from the unhindered tendency to drown in melancholy when there are no distractions present – and right now, all he has got is an old [picture of him and Wooyoung at age seventeen](https://twitter.com/woojinblooms/status/1209085710227181568?s=20) in one hand, and an even older picture of his grandparents in the other, two of the greatest sources for his current hyper-emotional state. He is sure that he has stared at either picture for five whole minutes, motionless except for the wrinkle of his nose and flutter of his eyelashes, as he blinks to chase away the tears.

He had been in the midst of packing when he stumbled upon them. Two little pieces of shiny paper tucked away in a tiny box somewhere on the top of a shelf. Once upon a time, San thought he had lost it, when all it had been doing was to sit idle in his very own room, waiting for San to blow the dust off the casing and search the treasure hidden inside.

From then on, San had to sit down on the bed and ponder on the curiosity of time, and this is how Wooyoung finds him when he checks up on him fifteen minutes later.

“Hey! You can’t berate me for being lazy with my packing and then be lazy yourself,” he complains upon entering, jokingly offended. San does not respond, does not even look up from the pictures. He feels the mattress dip next to him, an arm around his shoulder, but his eyes remain glued on the two photographs in his hand.

“Sannie, you okay?” Wooyoung asks, concern a thick coat around his words. San nods, smiling slightly, and this is the first time he has so much as acknowledged Wooyoung’s presence in the room. He gently guides the pictures into Wooyoung’s line of sight, urging him to take them. His smile gets bigger when he hears Wooyoung burst into laughter. “Oh my God!” he cries, half in horror, half in glee. “Look at us! We’re so tiny .”

San gives a short breathy laugh in response, and Wooyoung continues, “Someone should have taught us how to fluff up our hair.” San snorts, an unremarkable little sound which makes him sniffle, which in turn makes tears break out once more and him a puffy-eyed mess within seconds. Wooyoung does not seem to notice. “We look so happy together. Do you remember whe—”

It is then that Wooyoung realizes San’s distressed state and immediately stops to hug him close to his chest, asking a different question, “Sannie, hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” he tells the fabric of Wooyoung’s shirt. “I’m just a bit emotional, since we’re leaving, is all.“

“Oh,” Wooyoung responds, rubbing San’s back. “Me too. I think that’s to be expected. It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” San quietly agrees, more at ease now that Wooyoung is here. He releases a sigh and pulls back, the photograph of his grandparents still in his hands. “I miss them.”

“I know…” Wooyoung says, kissing the crown of his head. “They were… really lovely people. They loved you a lot.”

“They were quite fond of you, too,” San says, humming happily. His grandmother told him once, in the beginnings of his friendship with Wooyoung, that San had found himself a nice boy to spend his days with. Back then, San had not realized the true meaning behind her words – in all aspects except this one he may be none the wiser now, yet he is sure that she had known Wooyoung was San’s soulmate before San did.

Of course, San never disclosed the increasingly illegal activities to her or his grandfather, so neither his nor Wooyoung’s image could ever be fully tainted, though San knew they were smart enough to be aware that San was not the sweet boy they raised anymore. And that Wooyoung, as polite and friendly of a boy as he appeared to be around them, was not innocent in that development.

They did not care for the whole truth, though – they trusted San to make the right decisions for himself.

And if nothing else in the whole insignificance of San’s life, Wooyoung is.

His soulmate grins, puffing his chest, “Of course. After all, I am the nicest friend you’ve ever introduced them to.”

San snorts again, leaving the statement uncommented as he takes the picture of the two of them from Wooyoung’s fingers, noticing the gingerly hold Wooyoung had on it. He announces, “I’m gonna put these in my pocket. For when I have doubts and need a reminder whose dreams we’re going to make reality.”

And he does just that, carefully placing the two photographs into the inside pocket of his jacket. Wooyoung stares at his back and declares him a sap with a broken voice, clearing his throat as if a rasp was the cause for it. San knows better, but does not say a word in return, merely resumes his packing now that the fog of emotions has somewhat cleared. His eyes fall towards a dog plushie sitting in the center of his bed, eyes huge and pleading for San to pick him up – so San does just that, and does not think twice about putting it in his traveling bag, stuffing it neatly next to his clothes.

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re bringing Shiber?”

The surprised tone makes San challenge him with a frown. “Yes?”

“I thought we agreed to only bring essential stuff.” San’s mouth falls open in disbelief as Wooyoung’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, “Not to say that Shiber is, uh, non-essential, of course,” he hurries to add. “But…”

San takes Shiber from the bag, pressing the plush toy firm against his chest. He pouts to the best of his abilities, trains his strongest puppy dog eyes on his best friend and just hopes that Shiber does the same. “But…?” San asks innocently, tilting his head to the side.

“Nothing,” Wooyoung responds slowly, features softening into a smile. “Shiber is… more than welcome in our new life.”

“Yes,” San grins happily, a triumphant fist raised in the air.

“You know…” Wooyoung starts, walking towards San until he is standing right in front of him. “Once we’re settled… _Someplace dreamy_. We could get an actual dog. A real life Shiber, if you will.”

“Really?” San smiles, surprised yet pleased with the proposition. And although it is part of the dream of a domestic life with Wooyoung, San cannot help but point out the flaw in his fantasy. “How are we going to do that when we'll be working all day? Since we can’t exactly take our dog into the restaurant with us, as I’m pretty sure that violates several health regulations.”

“I don’t care,” Wooyoung decides, “we’ll get that dog. And we’ll name it Shiber. We should get a cat too, while we’re at it, name it…”

“Byeol!” San supplies, fondness taking over his smile.

“Our star Byeol! Yes, fantastic! Everyone in town will know us as Shiber, Byeol and the _Pirate Kings_.”

A pained groan leaves San’s throat and he whines, “No, please don’t bring that up again. It didn't work when you wanted to call us that back when we were eighteen and I won't let you try again in a place where nobody knows us yet.”

In a fit of artistic creativity, inspired by his brother’s own alter ego roaming the black market districts and providing illegal services, Wooyoung had tried to come up with a name for the two of them, something that would sound distant yet intimidating and imposing at the same time – San had not been impressed when Wooyoung started referring to them as _Pirate Kings_, especially since the name did neither stick nor cause anything but amusement among their circles, a fact that Wooyoung either remained oblivious to or very defiant of. His insistence on it only faded when Seonghwa kept telling them that establishing a reputation like this would be pointless, as they would quit within a few months anyway.

Years later, they had not quit, were not called the Pirate Kings, and had worries far bigger than the triviality of a nickname.

In fact, this is the first time Wooyoung has brought it up in years – that alone says a lot about the ease on their minds this endeavor, amongst so many other things, has granted them. They allow themselves to breathe, to seriously consider their dreams come to life, at last. To see a restaurant that is theirs to create and a dog called Shiber to keep them company, one way or another. San still finds it hard to believe that this is what he is packing for.

“All right, all right,” Wooyoung purses his lips. “But as soon as we have to think about a name for the restaurant, I _will_ bring it up again.”

San has to laugh at that threat, patting Wooyoung’s cheek with a jokingly patronizing, “Sure, sweetie.”

Wooyoung, evidently fed up with the disrespect he receives, scoffs and goes to exit the room. “Finish up, yeah? Seonghwa will be pissed if we're late tonight.”

Before Wooyoung has the chance to go through the door, however, San feels the need to stop and call after him, and despite himself, he does.

“Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung turns around, uncertainty of what to expect written all over his pretty features. San’s heart begins to ache once more, pricked by thorns of all the yearning, and he foolishly finds three words on his tongue weighing it down. He has to swallow them down before he speaks.

“Are you sure—are you sure that…”

“Yes,” Wooyoung interrupts him. “No matter what you’re about to say. I am sure. Of our plan, of our dream and of us.”

“Is that right?” San’s voice comes out lower than he anticipated. He does not expect Wooyoung to hear him, as he was close to a whisper, but Wooyoung answers, eyes soft and full of love which San still finds hard to believe is directed at him.

“A lot is going to change. But I’m happy that you’re my one constant, San.”

San only starts bawling his eyes out once Wooyoung has left – which had only happened after San, probably very unconvincingly, assured him that he was fine and did not need Wooyoung’s help with packing. He cries happy tears, for the most part, so really, he did not lie to Wooyoung – his emotions have merely gotten the better of him today.

So what if part of him has some difficulty accepting that Wooyoung and him are a forever kind of deal? That is his burden to bear, his obstacle to overcome – and not Wooyoung’s. His best friend can only do so much, after all, and he has his own weight upon his shoulders, he cannot be asked to carry San’s, as well.

Their city is a place like any other; the region’s capital in all its superficial glory, roughed out by trying times and lack of proper tending. Its caretakers have died out a long time ago, the last of their kind gone within the fury of flames, the few survivors of royal blood taken into the safety of another city’s refuge.

It is an open secret that those who leave it behind never dare to come back, for fear of what might await them if they do. Although a mere superstition at best, a warning is carved into every citizens’ heart, one that tells of a curse of bad luck should one return to a place one has betrayed. To streets one once called home, but abandoned easily when opportunity presented itself.

Some say it is the ghosts of the royal family speaking out those ill wishes, as they are eternally damned to roam empty halls of destruction, unable to leave the site of their death. Their spite clings to one’s every surface upon return, no matter how hopeless the soul or how grave the fate which has brought them back. No mercy is paid, no sympathy given – just as it was when the palace burned to the ground, as bitter spirits never seem to disappear.

Of course, no one who is keen on making a far journey to a better life has ever seriously considered turning back, and as such, folktales like these are of no matter to them – others, those striving to begin somewhere else out of fear that this city will not care for them much longer, do not have it so easy. Desperation may be the driving force behind their endeavors, though lack of money often calls them back home. Perhaps – if one cannot possibly fathom to believe ghost stories – the cause for the misery of the returning is not a curse from the long gone, but the fading perspective after a risk has not played out as one needed it to.

Seonghwa hopes that, whether or not the superstition is true, him and Yeosang are exempt from the rule. Although neither has brought it up just yet, the both of them are aware that they might be back within a month or less, should things backfire and not turn out as Seonghwa so dearly hopes. Though if they do, Yeosang must certainly be planning on staying with the prince once their family has been reunited, but Seonghwa would never presume to know what goes on inside Yeosang’s head.

At the same time, he fears, and he does not allow himself to hope.

Seonghwa, for one, cannot let go of the city he grew up in, not even when he has had months to get acquainted with the thought. For all the experiences which might have tipped him over the edge – his parents’ death, the Jung’s accident, losing Wooyoung – he has never once been willing to run, no matter how alone this city has made him feel.

But Yeosang has reasons similar to his – and a person waiting for him somewhere better than here, far away from horrors and trauma. It would not surprise Seonghwa that, once they _will_ discuss it, Yeosang is going to have to look him in the eyes and say that he will not accompany Seonghwa back home.

Seonghwa is going to have a hard time saying goodbye to Wooyoung and San as it is, what with his past troubles with Wooyoung not fully resolved just yet. He is planning on redeeming himself, have a candid and clear talk with his little brother before they part for an indefinite amount of time, and yet, Seonghwa has never felt as though time is running out with him – only with Yeosang, there is the distinct feeling of urgency sitting in the back of his throat, like every second of silence he once so treasured is nothing but a lost chance.

However, the rational side of him – everything that is sound within him – reminds him he better stay away at a reasonable distance, especially now that they have an uncertain future laying before them. He cannot ask Yeosang to let him stay in the equation, not when there is so much on the line for him. Seonghwa has to stop acting so entitled to Yeosang’s company and learn to live without him to prepare himself for the time where he will inevitably have to.

He had almost slipped up, two weeks prior. Had let himself get closer and closer until it was almost too late to turn back. But not again, not until they find answers far, far away from here.

Seonghwa can be patient. Seonghwa can be focused, too. There is no time to waste by dwelling on something unresolved – either he goes and does something about his uncertainty, or he waits until Yeosang approaches him. At the moment, he opts for the latter, for he does not want to assume and make a fool of himself for wanting something soon out of his reach.

All they can do, is carry out their plan and reunite Yeosang with his cousin, the prince.

And Park Seonghwa has made it his personal responsibility that, from now on, not a single thing will go wrong.

Which is why Seonghwa finds himself twenty minutes late at the agreed meeting place on the day they are finally starting the most important journey of their lives – or, Yeosang, San and Wooyoung’s lives, to be precise. Seonghwa will be, if one really thinks about it, vastly unaffected by this as soon as he returns home.

(A little heartbroken, sure, but otherwise, unaffected.)

This morning, Seonghwa had snuck out when he knew Yeosang was too preoccupied with packing and stressing himself out, but fortunately remembered to leave a note behind, planted in the middle of their kitchen table, handwriting neat in spite of his hurry.

Seonghwa had not expected Yeosang to see it before he was long gone, but in true Yeosang fashion, he had called after him as soon as Seonghwa was out of the front door. Their apartment was on the second floor of the building, though that did not stop Yeosang from yelling, none-too-threateningly, “I swear to anything that is holy, Park Seonghwa, if you don’t make it back in time, I am going to _kill_ you.”

Fearful of Yeosang’s wrath, Seonghwa had stopped in his tracks for a few seconds – though he did consider rounding the corner and pretending to have never heard him – a painful distorted smile on his lips. He turned to Yeosang to wave pathetically, promising to do his best so Yeosang’s criminal record could remain as clean and spotless as before.

Seonghwa supposes, now that sprinting from one end of the city to the other did not make for punctuality, that Yeosang is already practicing the speech he is going to give Seonghwa for making them wait – if they allow him some time to explain himself, he might still get away unscathed, as Seonghwa’s last-minute-endeavor has just now made them legal citizens of the Republic – without the unnecessary stress of bureaucracy their city would force them through for several months, nor the immense and disastrous amount of money they would have had to procure on such short notice.

It is funny how such a small piece of plastic – complete with their pictures and names and birth date, shimmering light green if you looked at it just right – could mean life or death within city bounds. Should they get caught by the wrong people tonight, be it just for a simple, unassuming check-up, their newly forged IDs will make their passage valid and unimportant to the eyes of the authority. It may not seem like much to most people, or like the bare minimum to his kind, but Seonghwa’s heart has lost the weight it had been carrying ever since he had gotten into that fight two weeks ago, as he could at least make sure they would have no problems leaving the city. He could at least make himself useful this way, if all the other pathways had been forbidden to cross.

Minho – the man who owed Seonghwa a favor from way, way back – and Chan – his partner and their connection to the administration – had double-checked to make certain of their validity, and without them, Seonghwa would have never been able accomplish the impossible just in time for the begin of their journey West.

In his early years as a forger, Seonghwa learned who to trust and who he had better keep a distance from, though both Minho and Chan stuck with him even when he had sworn to leave this world of crime behind. For this, for helping them, Seonghwa will find a way to properly repay them, once he is back and unaffected by the curse.

For the time being, his words of gratitude had to suffice – short and hurried as they were.

Out of breath, panting, a little dizzy, he makes it to their meeting place – a back-alley shop, no doubt owned by another figure of the shadows Seonghwa might have met once upon a time – and is surprised to find that none of them pay him any attention as he enters.

San and Wooyoung both sit perched on a table at the wall, the straps of their backpacks still hanging from their shoulders, while Yeosang leans against a bookshelf next to them. Before them sits a figure Seonghwa is unfamiliar with but reckons to be their driver – a young man with plain, black clothes and big, brown eyes that light up as he tells his friends an anecdote about one of his trades. As Seonghwa comes closer, he notices his muscular build, his broad shoulders and torso, almost hidden beneath his clothes had Seonghwa not seen these types of deceiving methods before. As unremarkable of a picture he is exuding – and as sweet his face may look as it splits into a grin – Seonghwa feels uncomfortable immediately. His instinct is telling him to stop this operation this very instant, to get his friends away from this strange man he has never met before – then again, Seonghwa is rather jittery in general, blood already boiling beneath his skin in anticipation of their plans for the night, so really, this might just be his anxiety talking.

Yeosang laughs at a joke the man makes, the cute, angelic laughter Yeosang rarely ever consciously allows – the young man scratches his neck in response, almost as though he is embarrassed, or better yet, _flustered_, to have coaxed such a reaction out of Yeosang. Seonghwa swallows down the unpleasant feeling in his throat, and finds it the appropriate moment to finally announce his presence to the group.

Yeosang’s laughter stills instantly when he notices Seonghwa standing there, just watching them, and marches up to him with a stare so intense, Seonghwa cannot help but shrink into himself ever-so-slightly. And yet, for all the bracing he does for whatever comes next, he does not expect the bone-crushing hug he receives from Yeosang, nor the way Yeosang’s nose presses into his neck as a sigh of relief makes all the tension flow from his body. In his confused state, Seonghwa manages to embrace Yeosang just as tightly, and chooses not to say a word before Yeosang does.

“Don’t do that ever again, you fool,” Yeosang mumbles against the fabric of Seonghwa’s turtleneck. Minutely, Seonghwa shakes his head in response, and pushes a hand into Yeosang’s hair as if to make amends for his mistakes and comfort him. As he does so, his attention wavers, and he notices the young man lift his eyes to stare at the two of them, in what Seonghwa assumes to be a questioning manner, like he is attempting to figure out just what it is he is witnessing. His eyes meet Seonghwa’s for a brief second before he averts his gaze, seemingly expecting to be scolded otherwise.

Odd boy.

Yeosang pulls away from him after a few seconds, and Seonghwa is thrown back into reality as Yeosang glares at him. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t do anything that could put you into danger.”

“Technically...” Seonghwa starts, intent to ignore how Yeosang’s eyes seem to roll out of their sockets at the word, “Technically, I didn’t agree to anything. You put me on house arrest the past few weeks and—”

“I didn’t put you on house arrest, you were _recovering_!”

“I was _recovered_ after three days,” Seonghwa huffs, exasperated. “Nothing happened today, all right? Delivery ran a bit late, no big deal. I had everything under control, plus I got what I came for. Everything couldn’t have gone any smoother.”

Yeosang steps away from him as Wooyoung appears by their side, pulling Seonghwa into his arms in greeting. “Where were you, anyway?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Seonghwa retrieves a large envelope from his bag, chucking it at Wooyoung who opens it eagerly.

“You son of a—”

“Language!” Seonghwa cries, indignant, as Wooyoung grins at him.

“You did _not_ get us fake IDs,” he gapes, awe-struck and pleased with the surprise. Like a child presented with a new toy, he jumps over to where San is still sitting on the table, and shows him each individual card, manic laughter spilling from his lips.

“This way,” Seonghwa explains, quietly, voice incredibly soft, for Yeosang only to hear over the ruckus Wooyoung is making, “we don’t have to be scared of discovery. Nothing can go wrong tonight.”

He sees Yeosang’s lips part with a silent gasp, before he suddenly sees nothing of Yeosang at all, as he throws his arm around him for the second time tonight. Seonghwa’s resolve crumbles to pieces, then, when Yeosang tells him, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Seonghwa replies shakily, closing his eyes to enjoy having Yeosang so close to him.

Once everything has settled down, San goes to introduce the young man as Choi Jongho, a colleague of Mingi’s. In his bitter skepticism, Seonghwa cannot help but ask, “Can we trust him?” to which San only replies with a nod and, “Mingi trusts him, and I trust Mingi. He wouldn’t screw us over.”

And while Seonghwa is sure that Mingi is physically and humanly incapable of betrayal, the distrust Seonghwa harbors towards Jongho – innocent, goody-two-shoes Jongho – does not fade so easily. Instead, when he catches the boy’s hand in his to shake it, coming face-to-face with those round eyes inspecting him, it grows from a little inkling to a thin vine, curling around his pinky finger. Nevertheless, Seonghwa pretends acquiescence, he pretends peace, if only for the fact that he cannot quite point out what it is that makes Choi Jongho so suspicious in his eyes.

It is of no matter, anyhow. They are all gathered here, at last, ready to go where neither of them has ever gone before. They are scared and restless, they are excited and unstoppable, they are on the verge of something new and unknown – it could mean the world to them, or it could be their downfall, but first, they have to take a risk to find out.

Seonghwa’s worries are not of top priority right now.

Their destination clear in mind, they set out at eleven, dark sky spreading above an unsuspecting city, with four dreamers in a car and utopia no longer out of reach.

Yeosang takes his hand, and Seonghwa distinctly thinks that it has never been in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so, their journey finally begins...
> 
> i am BEGGING on my knees for some response, i will thank you for all of eternity, PLEASE, do it here, do it on twitter, do it on cc, i just wanna know what yall think.................. pleathe. if you need further motivation, i do have a question: would you rather have chapters every two weeks with ~5000 words per chapter, or once a month with ~10000 words per chapter? (just a short response on cc would be great)
> 
> i cannot promise a regular upload schedule either way, but i would still appreciate your input!! :)
> 
> ANYWAY, thank you so much if you're still sticking with this story. :) see you next time!


	7. illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an attempt at a confession goes horribly wrong, a blemish causes havoc and suspicions do not always derive from jealousy.

Wooyoung does not remember a time when he has felt as at peace as he does in this very moment; a sleeping San on his shoulder, their hands intertwined in his lap, the city they grew up in and grew to hate miles and miles behind them, nothing but a bad memory in the back of his mind with every turn of the wheel. His face is already hurting from all the smiling, muscles strained and set into place, but Wooyoung cannot and will not stop it, will not hold himself back like he has done all this time when the city confined him to a version of himself he never really liked, nor could get used to.

To his utter delight – elated heart fluttering in his chest – he sees the remnants of a smile on San’s soft and sleepy features as well, like he is dreaming of their future together, as well. He twists his head just so, kisses the top of San’s head and catches mostly hair, but he is far from caring, anyhow. San, apparently not quite as asleep as Wooyoung had thought, squeezes his hand in response and snuggles closer – or, as close as he can get within the restraints of his seatbelt – and Wooyoung’s heart does somersault after somersault out of happiness.

Wooyoung has made up his mind; as soon as they arrive at their destination out West, he is going to tell San how he feels – how he _truly, actually, honestly feels_ for his best friend and soulmate, for the love of his life. His friend for all eternity, the one for whom he is striving to pick up the stars from the sky and gift them to him. There is no way Wooyoung will go through with this and not let San know his intentions with him, not let him know that it is _San_ for whom he does all this.

He is riding on the high of his escape, hopeful that, even when he wakes up from the slumber he finds himself falling into, the confidence in his bones is stronger than the fear inside his head, and he will manage to make things official with San. He needs San, and he is no longer allowing doubt to cloud his mind, not when he knows San is as committed to their shared dream as he is.

They take their first break at sunrise, stopping at an overlook over a large, green forest, and San is the one to wake him. At first, a beautiful dream still clinging to him with its claws wound tightly around his wrists, Wooyoung thinks they have already arrived where they are supposed to; _Someplace Dreamy_, everything that has them worry behind them, tucked away safely, never to return. He remembers his goal so clearly, sees San’s pretty, wonderful, enchanting smile just inches away from his face, and reaches out a hand to caress San’s cheek. He blinks and blinks to wakefulness, registers the sparkle in San’s eyes he loves so, so much, and his mouth opens on its own accord, ready to speak those infamous three words he has spoken so many times before, though never with quite the same meaning – he had been afraid, afraid of breaking a friendship he misjudged as too fragile to stand against this test, but no longer.

His ears pick up chatter from the front seat, Jongho and Yeosang conversing amongst themselves and even trying to keep it down, but Wooyoung wakes to the fullest, nasty fingers around his wrist loosening, and realizes: this is not a dream anymore. They still have a long way to go.

He sighs and closes his eyes again, and a pout places itself onto his lips – San chuckles at him, rattling at his shoulders to keep him in the world of the living, and Wooyoung fails to decide who, between the two of them, is the more dramatic one. Seonghwa turns up at San’s side, and it Is then that Wooyoung notices the sunlight filtering in through the open car door and the light breeze waking up the goosebumps on his skin, as well. An apple is pushed into his line of sight, then, accompanied by the words, “you should eat,” which is nothing more than a grumble, really, before Seonghwa sets off again. Wooyoung follows his retreating body until he cannot see him any longer, mumbling as he sits up, “And here I thought Park Seonghwa would be a morning person.”

San shrugs in response, snatching the apple from Wooyoung’s hand to take a bite himself. Through his munching, he says, “I suppose _someone _just hasn’t paid him enough attention this morning.”

San tilts his head back just a little, gesturing towards Jongho and Yeosang, still engulfed in their conversation, and Wooyoung supposes Seonghwa, for once, did not have the privilege Yeosang’s undivided attention.

Wooyoung has to snort at that; of course, his big brother would be the type to get jealous, but so damn obviously, too. It would be almost funny if Seonghwa wasn't pouting like a five-year-old right now.

“How long have they been talking?” Wooyoung inquires.

“A while. I woke up because Seonghwa was a bit snippy towards Jongho, though I don’t know why, and by then, Yeosang was already sitting in the front.”

Wooyoung did not even realize they had made another stop before; however, he would not put it past Yeosang to climb to the front, no matter how much of a danger those kinds of acrobatics posed while driving – that man sure was flexible, a hidden talent Wooyoung had learned about a few weeks into their studying.

“They do seem to hit it off pretty well,” Wooyoung remarks, watching Jongho laugh at something Yeosang said. “He didn’t warm up to us this quickly.”

Yeosang had been quiet, reserved, not much of a talker unless he was prompted. He had let Seonghwa take the initiative for the most part, at least until he was comfortable enough around Wooyoung and San to be his bolder, very direct self, complete with a very peculiar type of humor at other people’s expense. His honesty is probably Yeosang’s best quality, but it is not like he advertises it to strangers.

“Some people just click,” San says, a smile in his voice. He gently tugs at Wooyoung’s arm, “Come on, I want to show you the view. It’s breathtaking.”

Fatigue still etched into his bones, Wooyoung makes sure to groan about his laziness, begging San to help him up - what he does not expect is to be thrown over San’s shoulder after San rolls his eyes at him fondly, screaming and yelping as San carries him like he weighs nothing at all.

“When did you get so strong?” Wooyoung calls out as San sets him down on the ground – only after Wooyoung has given him enough trouble that he did not have any other choice – and San grins at him, leaning in close.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” San retorts, in a sly tone that makes the blood rise to Wooyoung’s face. All sorts of inappropriate thoughts pop up in his head, and for the first time in a while, Wooyoung wonders what it would possibly feel like to be man-handled by none other than Choi San.

Oh, dear God.

San levels him with a look so arrogant, Wooyoung cannot be the one to turn down this challenge, so – never mind the color in his face – he smirks back, mirrors San’s confident stance and replies, “I would, very much so.”

And, as much as San’s gaze is burning into his flesh, shoving aside each and every layer around his heart until he ends up bare and vulnerable, Wooyoung does not dare to turn away. He thinks – as much as he can, when all of his senses are just clouded with San from every direction – that he might just confess right here, right this moment. Take ahold of this tension and make something of it, as much as he has liked to all this time.

Words, though—he needed to use his words.

He is so close. So, so close. Where are the _words_?

“Sannie...”

There is one, a start. One step forward, figuratively, literally, any meaning Wooyoung could find. But there is more going on than the imminent confession, outside of their little bubble – and it _is_ little, what with their proximity and all, but when is it ever big, anyhow – and Seonghwa’s groan pulls Wooyoung out of his trance. Seonghwa is indeed watching them, judging from a few feet away, and Yeosang – Wooyoung had not even seen him join them – giggles in delight, or mirth, more likely, because everybody enjoys Seonghwa’s suffering. Truth be told, there is nothing new or out of the ordinary of these interactions, neither is their combination. Though it is not Seonghwa’s complaint that disrupts their tranquil moment, but Yeosang, who smooths his hair back, an action that is unconscious and insignificant were it any other day, any other time – but today. Today, Wooyoung takes note of something he has never seen before, and promptly loses his head over it.

The bubble bursts.

“What is that next to your eye?” he asks carefully, colder tone now that a bucket of ice water has been dropped over his head with the revelation. Yeosang does not realize he is the recipient of the question, so Wooyoung drags his feet closer until he stands in front of Yeosang and repeats the question, more forceful than he probably should.

At first, Yeosang appears dumbstruck. “What do you mean?”

Wooyoung, never one for patience, nearly growls, “You know exactly what I mean,” and points at the object in question, a light-red patch of skin beneath Yeosang’s left eye, standing out against his pale complexion. “That blemish next to your eye, what is that?”

Boring into his neck, he feels Seonghwa and San’s confused stares, though he could not care less for them, not when he has to fear for his dreams.

Yeosang’s hand flies up to the spot, as if its existence has only now crossed his mind, and answers, cautious, “I… I don’t know.”

Wooyoung laughs bitterly, in utter disbelief, “You don’t _know_?”

“I’ve... had it ever since I could remember,” Yeosang adds, “It could be a scar, but I wouldn’t know of what. Might be a skin defect, or a birth mark of some kind.”

Glass shatters inside Wooyoung’s skull, breaking into a million, a billion pieces he cannot possibly pick up and fix again, as his laugh turns into a scoff. He grins like a maniac, unable to calm himself. He presses his palm against his forehead, because his hand is cold but his head feels entirely too warm, and dear God, Wooyoung should have known it was all too good to be true, should have known he was living in a colorfully painted illusion, should have known that his luck would run out sooner rather than later.

“Why haven’t you told me?” he asks Yeosang, already fuming beneath his skin. None of his friends dare to make a move.

Yeosang frowns. “I usually cover it up, it’s not a big deal. Didn’t really take you for a superficial guy, Wooyoung.”

“Hah!” Wooyoung cries, tumbling on a tightrope between maintaining his sanity and losing his cool. “_Not a big deal_. Can you believe this guy?”

“Wooyoungie?” San interjects, and even he cannot seem to place what is going on with Wooyoung, nor what has caused this sudden change of mood. His voice, smooth and golden like honey, does little to soothe Wooyoung’s nerves and neither does the question Seonghwa asks him. Protective as his older brother is, Seonghwa has come to shield Yeosang’s body with his own, subtly but effectively. “What does it matter, Wooyoung? What are you on about?”

“What does it matter?!” Wooyoung cries again. “God, are you all so dense that you don’t see why this is a problem?! Last time I checked, the Kang Heir didn’t have a scar, or a skin defect, or a _birth mark of some kind_. That stupid kid had a face to die for, blemish-free and pretty like a doll, no goddamn _birth mark_ in sight.”

The shocked silence his freak-out brings on lies heavy on his shoulders, though perhaps, San’s hand just feels heavier than usual. Yeosang’s face is the scene of devastation, of ignorance – Wooyoung could almost believe Yeosang had not even considered this _thing _on his face as a potential dent in their perfectly-crafted plan, but he is mad and upset and so, so _angry _with himself for not having noticed sooner.

“This ruins everything...” Wooyoung whispers. His knees give out a second afterwards. As dirt gathers within his palms, thick, hot tears fall from his eyes, desperation their ruthless commander. “Fuck,” he screams out, short but impactful.

Yeosang’s voice seems faraway when he apologizes quietly, with shame so sincere, it would break Wooyoung’s heart were it not already so broken with hopelessness.

What kills him the most, is for all that he has made everyone suffer, Yeosang has no intention of turning back.

It takes him a while, and then another, before he can finally grasp that something has shifted, that Wooyoung’s enthusiasm and eagerness has vanished within the blink of an eye. He never thought, not once in the months ever since he had agreed to being the Kang heir, that the blemish on his face would pose as a complication, because covering it up is almost like a second nature to him, he rarely ever allows it to meet the light of day. He does not consider it a part of himself. Though perhaps, the reason for that is the fact that he does not even know its origins. It was not a fresh wound when he woke up without his memories, so he must have had it for a while before his accident.

Back then, in his first days at the orphanage, a nurse had told him to cover it up, even provided him with the makeup and a quick tutorial, and he did so without question, until long after the nurse had retired.

The mixture of guilt and anger swirls up in his throat yet again, because Wooyoung has been quiet and unapproachable for the better part of the hour. Jongho, clueless as to their troubles – and not to be entrusted with them, as per Seonghwa’s instructions – stands to the side, nervous and fidgeting, and Yeosang can sense that he does wish to help, but is unable to when no one will tell him anything. He is but their driver, a person they are paying at the end of the day, but Yeosang did not have good and open conversations with him earlier to pretend like he is just a stranger to him now. More than an awkward upturn of his lips, however, Yeosang cannot manage, though he finds comfort in the way Jongho’s hands rise up to give him an equally as awkward thumbs-up.

Seonghwa has gone to talk to Wooyoung in the car, after not even San got through to him – in fact, if there is anyone who should be just as affected as Wooyoung, it would be San, and yet, San’s face is perfectly composed as he sits opposite Yeosang on the bench overlooking the area, wringing hands in his lap the only sign of distress. Yeosang finds himself torn between asking him to show his true feelings, broaden the guilt Yeosang already fills, and finding validation in the simple indifference, because how was Yeosang supposed to know this would backfire on him?

Instead, he ends up choosing neither option, as he wonders, “Why aren’t you mad at me, too?”

San’s careful gaze snaps towards him, and he counters, “Do you want me to be mad at you?”

_Yes_, screams the louder part of Yeosang’s conscience.

_No_, whispers the irrational side of his brain.

“I don’t know,” Yeosang answers, burying his face in his hands. He is—he is so confused. “I genuinely didn’t think this could become a problem. The K—”

“Stop,” San interrupts, subtly eyeing Jongho a few feet away. “You should have told us, yes. But... Wooyoung is—well. He isn’t mad at you either. He told me you promised him to see this through. I guess he just—I don’t know. He wants this to end well for all of us, all right? Not just for him, or for me. But now he’s upset because he doesn’t see this ending in success at all.”

Yeosang’s jaw clenches. He is afraid to look San in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking in every body part.

San’s voice, as well as his hand, is soft as he inches closer to Yeosang, cupping his face so Yeosang will meet his eyes. “There’s no need for that, Sangie. Wooyoung will calm down. It’s the first wave of shock, he couldn’t think a rational thought even if he wanted to right now. That’s why Seonghwa’s talking to him. He’s always been very good at calming Woo down.”

San’s hands fall from his face, and Yeosang catches the faint edges of a rueful smile on San’s face. The undertones of sadness were not just a figment of his imagination, then.

“And you aren’t?” Yeosang frowns, perplexed.

“I’m not what he needs right now,” San remarks in a neutral tone, the brown of his irises losing all of their color. “When he looks at me, as much as he wants me to be a source of comfort, all I end up being is a reminder of his failure.”

“Did he say that?”

“No! No, of course not,” San assures him. “But Wooyoung believes this entire operation is his own weight to carry, that he is the one responsible for everything, every good and every bad thing, each and every misstep. He hasn’t said so, but – and I don’t mean to sound too egotistic – I know what he does, he does it for me. For our future, our dream. He believes he’s failed _me_.”

“He hasn’t failed anyone,” Yeosang says, resolute in his belief. “I—”

San halts him once again, “No. Neither of you have failed anyone. We’re in a rough spot, but that doesn’t mean we’re stuck because of you. Wooyoung just needs to learn that he isn’t alone in this, and you need to realize that you agreed to this for a reason, and that forgetting about your... _thing_... didn’t happen out of nowhere. You don’t seem like the type to deceive so maliciously.”

Although San does not quite raise his voice at Yeosang, his words come with a certain force that intimidate Yeosang into stunned silence, and he can barely manage a nod of acknowledgement.

It is true, what San says. He agreed because he had seen the opportunity of a lifetime, a shot at having his family back. The doubt comes and goes, but he has never wavered in his decision. It feels right to be on the journey West. It feels right to be this person someone is passionately searching for.

Yeosang resolves to tell Wooyoung as much once he will have the ear to listen.

And, as it turns out, he does not have to wait too long. Wooyoung stumbles out of the car ten minutes later, a shy lamb tiptoeing behind Seonghwa, tiny fingers softly holding on the back of his jacket. When he comes to a stop beneath the other three - who all stare at him with varying degrees of expectation - the air feels heavy with uncertainty. Yeosang does not know how to move as anticipation binds his hands and feet together, curls around his neck and _pulls _to suffocate him.

He watches Seonghwa nudge Wooyoung towards him, raising in eyebrow, waiting. Wooyoung looks, by all means, rather constipated, but obviously does not allow it to get the better of him. A fraction of a second goes by before he opens his mouth, staring at Yeosang, “I’m sorry.”

Yeosang blinks in confusion, still robbed of the ability to speak. Seonghwa holds up his hands, doing circular motions as his lips move around the whisper of ‘for’ only Wooyoung is supposed to register.

“For... freaking out on you. And. For not allowing a mature conversation to take place.”

The stars return to San’s eyes as he reaches for Wooyoung’s hand, gently rubbing his thumb across its back. Apparently satisfied, Seonghwa pats Wooyoung on the back with a small but genuine smile, before redirecting his gaze towards Yeosang, who is—a little bit unsettled, to say the least.

His voice is scratchy when he gives his own apology, “I, uh, I am sorry, too. For not saying something sooner.”

He, decidedly, does not return the proud look Seonghwa gives him.

“Cool,” Wooyoung says. “Yeah, that's...”

He trails off, very evidently uncomfortable and uncertain, but Yeosang can hardly fault him for that, for he is not much better off. Never, not even in the _getting-to-know-each-other_ stage of their relationship, had they acted this stilted around one another. Wooyoung finds interest in the ground beneath his feet, kicking at it, eyes low and lost and like those of a kicked puppy, and Yeosang suddenly gets the mental image of a ten-year-old Wooyoung, looking just as regretful as he does now.

What a vivid imagination he has.

“I—” Yeosang starts, and Wooyoung looks up again. “I don’t want to go back.”

The confession leaves him in a rush, but earnestly, and he stands as tall as he can manage so Wooyoung will know he is serious.

“Me neither,” Wooyoung agrees, though his voice betrays his insecurities – he has lost faith, has lost trust. And Yeosang does not have the faintest idea how he could possibly restore it. “But... unless you want to pretend, I don’t see—”

“Who says,” Yeosang interrupts, “that I have to pretend?”

Wooyoung just stares at him in response, worlds away from understanding the meaning behind Yeosang’s words. So, Yeosang clears his throat and decides to indulge in a white lie, “I know who I am, Woo,” he says, praying to all heavens that Wooyoung will catch his drift. He is glad for Jongho’s presence, for it will allow him to get away with this without any further questions, at least for now. “You don’t have to worry… about anything.”

“What?”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows are scrunched together, in irritation at first, then displeasure, and his sharp gaze on Yeosang turns lethal. In the two years of their friendship, Yeosang has never been on the receiving end of Seonghwa’s judgment, never quite like this, not even in the beginning of all of this, in that dimly-lit kitchen in their apartment, and he shifts, uncertain of his entire stature all of a sudden. Wooyoung catches up to speed just moments after Seonghwa does, though his reaction could not be more different than his brother's.

“_Oh_.”

And then, before Yeosang has any chance to say something else, he has an arm full of Wooyoung, arms wound around his neck so tightly, the force of it momentarily suffocates Yeosang – though, now that he has the physical manifestation of Wooyoung’s joy and relief within his hold, Wooyoung’s body is not the only thing which does the smothering.

Involuntarily, Yeosang’s lips stretch into a thin smile, as shaky hands find their way on Wooyoung’s back and leaving inelegant pats before they fall to his sides again.

“Thank you,” Wooyoung whispers to him, warm breath against Yeosang’s ear. A shiver runs down his spine, and he briefly wonders if Wooyoung can feel its journey through his body. Seonghwa is still staring daggers at Yeosang, and the guilt builds up and up and up, but how could Yeosang take back what he has said and break Wooyoung’s heart yet again? He has sat down at the poker table, bluffing in spite of cards which cannot promise him a win, and hopes against the odds for the best outcome for all of them. It never occurred to him that he would be so willing to pretend for someone else’s sake.

But Wooyoung – and San – have both worked so tirelessly to help him study everything he needs to know, have brushed up on proper etiquette and dancing and whatnot to make Yeosang a prince straight out of the picture book – the least he can do is help them in return, just until—until he, himself, remembers. He will not have lied, but Wooyoung’s mind will have been at ease for longer. He can do that much for someone who used to be his best friend.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Seonghwa tells him, an unforgiving edge to his tone which scares Yeosang a little, when it is just the two of them standing at the overlook, the early morning sun pressing down on them. The heat is almost unbearable to Yeosang, now that Seonghwa is glowering at him without restraint, all the goodness left from his angelic features.

“I hope so, too,” Yeosang swallows past the lump in his throat. “You have to trust me, Hwa.”

Yeosang is aware that trust is hardly enough to soothe Seonghwa’s nerves. He is aware how empty the words truly are, even to his own ears – to his own heart – but Yeosang will not take them back. He will not take them back, but he is going to make them count instead.

Seonghwa does not look nearly as convinced as Yeosang wishes he would, though he cannot blame him for putting up a front now. After all, Yeosang is not usually a person for dishonesty, resorting to it out of the blue must ring several alarm bells inside Seonghwa’s head.

“Why?” Seonghwa asks him, and the question is warranted, really.

“I’m gonna remember. I promise,” Yeosang says, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind that begs him to stop promising what he cannot promise. He goes for a lopsided smile, a wobbly attempt to lighten the mood. “What else am I gonna do, Hwa?”

“Not lie, for one,” Seonghwa counters, remaining stern and stoic and everything Yeosang believed he would never have to face again. “I—I don’t even know what to think right now, Yeosang. Do you expect me to keep up the lie until you may or may not remember? What if you’ll realize you’re not who Wooyoung needs?”

_What if, in the end, Yeosang realizes he is not the Kang heir_, Seonghwa means, as if that is not Yeosang’s prime concern anyway. As if that has not been the only thing on Yeosang’s mind for the past months.

The answer to that, however; the answer to that is not an easy one, and yet, Yeosang has had it for so long, he is almost ashamed he has never had the guts to tell Seonghwa.

For Yeosang will play the charade in hopes of Hongjoong falling for it, will pretend to be someone until both he and Hongjoong will arrive at the conclusion that he is not the person either of them wants him to be. But their adventure should not be entirely in vain – Yeosang may not be able to satisfy Seonghwa with his choices, nor will he get any closer to finding out who he truly is, but San and Wooyoung – with their concrete dreams, with the hopes of a future together that will be better spent than their past six years of heists and smuggling, and fighting through the day, then the week, then the month trying to survive the city – they deserve the light at the end of the tunnel.

And right now, their fate lies in Yeosang’s hands, and in Yeosang’s hands alone – and fate usually does not care for the circumstances of precarious situations, nor how difficult it is to maneuver through rough times.

So, Yeosang will pretend and lie if he has to. Yeosang will stand before his supposed cousin and _hope_ that he can twist the strings of fate for a little while, not just for himself, but for San and Wooyoung's sake, as well. If he ends up kicked out on the streets, so be it – Hongjoong will not be the only one heartbroken, though Yeosang is shameful just thinking about the deception he would create. He must disguise it as a mistake borne from his amnesia and wishful thinking, to soften the blow for both of them – a disguise only partially made-up, but a disguise nonetheless.

He cannot tell Seonghwa of this, however. For he will lose the one thing that is most precious to him in the entire world if he does, knowing full well that he has already created a vast chasm between them by lying in the first place. But whatever affection Seonghwa is still willing to give him, Yeosang craves to have it, as selfish of a desire it may be, before he will – inevitably – need to learn to live without it.

So, he ends up replying, “It won’t come to that, Hwa. I have a good feeling about this.”

Seonghwa’s face collapses into a miserable frown, as he says, mercilessly, “I wish you’d at least be honest with me, Yeosang,” and turns on his heel towards the car before Yeosang has a chance to answer. Not that he could have the words, anyway.

He has just made their situation a whole lot messier.

They are at a halfway point in their journey when they finally stop at an inn in a small village, a family-owned business Jongho frequents on his trips West. He greets the owners with a familiar smile, gathers a small old grandfather in his arms and gets them two rooms before any of them can protest.

“Don’t worry about the money,” Jongho assures them when Wooyoung tries to offer up his services to the owners in exchange for the rooms. “Mingi has already taken care of it. He said it’s the least he could do.”

Wooyoung’s brain short circuits then, and Seonghwa has to be the one to thank Jongho in the midst of Wooyoung’s resulting speechlessness. Mingi could have at least had the decency to tell them before doing a surprising act of kindness in spite of his own less than ideal circumstances, that way Wooyoung would have been prepared and able to refuse it.

“Stupid Mingi,” Wooyoung tells San once they are alone in their room, sat on one of the two beds with a pout on his face and his arms crossed in front of his chest in defiance. “We could’ve taken care of it ourselves.”

“Could we now?” San counters, only half-listening as he changes into sleeping clothes and starts putting on a face mask in the bathroom.

“We definitely couldn’t,” Seonghwa says, closing the door behind him. Wooyoung had not even heard him come in in the first place. “We’re short on money as it is, be grateful that Mingi helped us out.”

“I _am_,” Wooyoung retorts with indignation. “All I’m saying is that I—”

Wooyoung pauses, taking a good look at a disgruntled Seonghwa walking towards him, then at San who is resurfacing from the bathroom with his hair tied back into a tiny ponytail and translucent cream on his face.

Right. Wooyoung is not alone.

“_We_ didn’t need his help,” he finishes quietly, miserably. “Not again, I mean.”

“It’s very nice, though,” says San, sitting down next to him, “Not having to worry for the night. After all, I’ve heard the hotel rooms out West are crazy expensive, we’ll need everything we can spare.”

And as much as he wants to resume his dramatic sulking and pretend as though he alone could stem their financial hardships with unquestionable ease, Wooyoung truly cannot argue against that. They have to pay Jongho in the end, too, and fight to stay afloat in the city once they arrive, and who knows how long they will have to stay there until they get to meet with the prince.

“I know,” Wooyoung says, and focuses his attentions on Seonghwa – who _should_ be in the other room with Jongho and Yeosang for the night, and yet, he has decided to disturb the peace between San and Wooyoung instead. Of course, Wooyoung is never quite so opposed to having his big brother around, but after the morning they had and with a long, uncomfortable car ride behind them, Wooyoung had much looked forward to spending the night in the comfort of San’s arms and a nice round of sleeping – perhaps even, if courage struck him, a little confession and the hopes of some kissing, if all had gone well.

So, as he has no tact and lost all the respect for Seonghwa years ago – and is rather unhappy to be interrupted before he could even start – Wooyoung asks, “Why are _you_ here, anyway? Got tired of watching Jongho and Yeosang flirt with each other?”

The cheeky question, though only half-serious, gets him the expected reaction; Seonghwa’s moping becomes a sputter, as Seonghwa tries to deny, “They are _not_ flirting!” while he fumes beneath his skin and his lips purse in distaste.

Wooyoung is perfectly aware that neither Yeosang – too whipped for Seonghwa to even notice Jongho’s tiny crush on him, therefore wildly unreceptive to the tradesman’s unconscious flirtations – nor Jongho – clumsy, yet respectful in his advances, and thoroughly patient with Yeosang’s obliviousness – are what the average person would consider true, honest-to-God flirting with the other. They get along well, and that is where the story ends – no doubt Jongho will forget all about Yeosang as soon as he drives back to their hometown.

However.

Seonghwa has been in a horrible mood all day, and Wooyoung can only suppose it is due to the never-ending conversations between Yeosang and Jongho – as deduced from Seonghwa’s unwillingness to participate whenever Yeosang offered him an opening.

So, they may not be flirting much at all, but if San and Wooyoung both picked up on Jongho’s interest in Yeosang, Seonghwa is sure to have noticed the same. Needless to say, Seonghwa chose being petty and distanced over talking to Yeosang – therefore, he has opted to visit them, even though it is late and they are all tired and Yeosang is probably not conversing much at all anymore.

“It’s okay if you’re jealous, Hwa. Everybody gets jealous sometimes.”

“I’m not jealous!” Seonghwa defends himself, voice a tad too high to make it sound believable. “Yeosang can speak to whomever he wishes to speak, I’m not the boss of him.”

“But you’d prefer it if he talked to someone else,” San insists, raising an eyebrow at Seonghwa. He is wearing the same smug grin Wooyoung currently sports, and if Wooyoung thought he could not love San any more than he already does, this would be the moment to realize he was incredibly wrong. Seonghwa looks tortured, had probably expected San to help him out of this awkward situation, as he is usually the one to intervene when Wooyoung is teasing his brother too much. Rarely does San _join in_, though, and it delights Wooyoung to no end that he did just now.

But, as with all things light and breezy, they must come to an end somehow, and Seonghwa does appear to have come here for a different reason. “To tell you the truth, yes. I _would_ prefer if he talked to someone else. But not for the reason you think,” Seonghwa tells them pointedly, and the arch of his brow could not speak more clearly of the need for a serious discussion. “I did come here to talk about Jongho, and it’s not because I’m fucking _jealous_ of him.”

“Okay,” Wooyoung says, sobered up from the swear alone. “Okay, what is it, then? Jongho seems like a nice guy, what’s your problem with him?”

Seonghwa grits out, “Nothing yet. I’m just wary of him, though I couldn’t place the reason until I finally figured out why his last name sounded so familiar to me.”

His eyes fall on San in particular, and San’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Because of me? Because we share a last name?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa agrees. “I know you grew up with your grandparents and you don’t know much about your actual parents, but… it still got me thinking.”

“Lots of people share last names, Hwa,” Wooyoung says, because he cannot quite follow Seonghwa’s train of thought and is very protective over his best friend. ”What, do you think they’re related?”

Seonghwa proceeds to sit down on the other bed, facing San and Wooyoung and no longer looking down at them, and his hands fold in his lap. With a clear, neutral voice, he offers, “That, among other things.”

Once again, Seonghwa locks his gaze on San, who sits so close to Wooyoung that he can feel his best friend’s body twitch in anticipation.

“What can you tell me about your mother’s family, San?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope my writing comes across as me knowing what i'm doing bc,, i really have no idea
> 
> things are getting interesting folks.... what do yall think, should we look out for jongho? or is hwa just jealous? i guess we'll see hehe. also this isn't even halfway done unfortunately. originally, i wanted to keep this short, like 20.000 words. yeah. come laugh at me
> 
> AS ALWAYS, please please pleeeeeaaaaase be so kind and lmk your thoughts even if it's just something along the lines of "oh that jongho dude seems sus *eyes emoji*". alternatively, you can also say something like, "woosan get your sh*t together*. or any variety of phrases. really. just get creative i will promise you my firstborn or smth
> 
> see you next time, and please stay safe and healthy and sane during social distancing. take care of yourselves. we'll get through this. 
> 
> and just a little note!! i haven’t abandoned this, but life is stressful, and i don’t want to force anything. so you’ll have to be patient.  
[twitter](https://twitter.com/woojinblooms) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/woojinblooms)

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it, why don't you let me know with a kudo and a comment? :) i'd love to know your thoughts on everything and it is natural to want feedback on one's work. you can leave criticism, as well, so long as you stay polite.
> 
> should you wish, you can do so on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/woojinblooms), as well! any response to this work (or my other works) is appreciated and welcome :)
> 
> if you want to yell at me, you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/woojinblooms)!! i tweet and cry about kim woojin and kang yeosang being a prince
> 
> have a nice day :)


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